


All That Is Given

by WritingIsMyCoffee



Category: Moominvalley (Cartoon 2019), Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson, 楽しいムーミン一家 | Moomin (Anime)
Genre: Crying, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Multi, Now beta'd by the wonderful Nan!, Ok maybe more angst than I intended, be gay do crime: newlyweds edition, building a house, did someone say secret forest wedding?, i did anyway, mostly bc i identify so much with snufkin and his struggles, only slightly a vent fic, snufkin doesn't know how to Emotion and he's very scared of hecking their relationship right up, sometimes you write a moomin fic bc there isn't enough softness in the world, very minor angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-02-26 21:11:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 29,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18725059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingIsMyCoffee/pseuds/WritingIsMyCoffee
Summary: Moomin’s touch sends a bolt of electricity up his spine, sharper than any spark from a hattifattener. This is new too, the touching, holding, hugging, whatever name for it is used. The most contact Snufkin settles with is often a hearty handshake. He stiffens at first, and for a few moments he stays that way. But once Moomin’s tail curls around him, he melts like butter atop a crisp slice of toast.It’s all foreign, and horrifying, and personal, and smothering, but most importantly of all it’s nice.Or: Snufkin learns how to love and be loved.





	1. Confessions

**Author's Note:**

> Hey I don't know what the heck was up with my week last week but it was something awful. So to make myself feel better and maybe brighten up someone else's day too, I caved and wrote a fluffy Moomin fic. This is completely self-indulgent and the characterization is probably gonna be all over the place because I just discovered the series not too long ago, but I hope you enjoy nonetheless!

It is not a remarkable day by any means. In fact, as far as most days go, this may be the most mundane of them. Snufkin is sure of it, which should have been his first clue that this day was going to be anything but.

Recently, he’s been less sure of just about anything, and the blame can be put solely on his fluffy white friend beside him.

The sun is accompanied by a flock of whisky clouds, and the breeze ruffling the fringes of Snufkin’s hat carry only the faintest chill. Blades of grass tickle the underside of his knee, his legs laid out on either side of him as he soaks up the late-summer sun. His hands itch for his harmonica or his pipe, but both items require him to walk over to his tent and shatter the tender atmosphere he and Moomin share. He settles with nibbling on the inside of his cheek.

Fall isn’t as patient this year as it’s always been. It’s pushing summer out before it has the chance to thoroughly tan Snufkin’s skin. Moomin had once compared his mocha freckles to constellations, and Snufkin would have loved to count them on his winter journeys underneath a starry sky of his own. Next year, perhaps he will be more lucky.

Silence as encapsulated the valley, another oddity of the day. Normally Little My is causing a ruckus loud enough to hear from miles around. Not even Sniff has found a way to intrude upon their peaceful-dare Snufkin say  _ intimate _ -solitude.

The prickles of anxiety strike upon this realization. It should be just another day sitting with Moomin, soaking up the sun, enjoying the quiet conversation between them. It should be. It must be.

Then why does Snufkin suspect the exact opposite to be true?

Moomin sighs. The airy sound is enough to make Snufkin jump. What could possibly follow a sigh so heavenly, so precise in its weight? Something must. Perhaps it would be best to kill his paranoia and ask directly? But then what if he’s right, and whatever Moomin has to say causes Snufkin’s world to fall into disarray like he believes it will?

“What’s the matter? You seem preoccupied.”

Moomin looks to his friend, his gaze soft, impossibly so. However, they hold a sharp fear that mirrors Soufkin’s own. “N-Nothing much. Just...pondering.”

Snufkin takes the bait. “Over what?”

Silky hair brushes against his hand as Moomin’s tail curls nervously around himself. “Oh, it’s not...it doesn’t matter.”

“Don’t say that. I’m sure it does, even if it’s nothing dire.”

Moomin blinks, startled. “W-Well, I...it’s something I’ve actually wanted to...no. No, nevermind. It really doesn’t matter. Really.”

Snufkin carves out one last chunk of his cheek and pushes forward. “Moomin, you don’t have to ever be afraid to tell me anything. Afterall, we’ve been pals for-How long has it been now? Surely over a decade.”

“Twelve years,” Moomin corrects easily, even with the croak in his voice. Of course Moomin would remember. He’s always had that added attention to detail Snufkin just doesn’t have the mind for.

“Right. There’s nothing you could say that would upset me.”

Moomin’s face darkens. He turns slightly away, wringing his hands together in his lap. “Oh, I’m sure there is. In fact, I’m  _ absolutely _ sure of it...”

Now Snufkin is scared. Not yet veering into terrified, for  _ he’s _ sure the true terrifying bits of their conversation have yet to be unleashed. Regardless of how he feels, Snufkin reaches out a hand and grasps it firmly overtop of Moomin’s. “Impossible. Now if you were Stinky or anyone else, maybe. But my dear Moomintroll? No, you could never upset me.”

Moomin frowns, deep in thought.

“Please Moomin,” Snufkin pushes. “Don’t get upset. You haven’t even told me yet.”

It’s the tipping point of their discussion, the moment where Moomin makes up his mind and the world falls out of orbit. Snufkin holds his breath as Moomin takes a deep one in, squeezing his eyes shut as if to rid himself of the doubts plaguing his mind. Then finally he opens them, and stares straight into Snufkin’s own.

“If I told you I loved you Snufkin, would you leave the valley forever?”

Snufkin, a bit late on the draw, answers with a shrill, “ _ Huh? _ ”

Moomin’s face erupts with a dark, cherry blush. “I-If I told you I loved you..If I told you I had loved you for a long while, but had been too afraid to say it… what would you do?”

Snufkin may have never been to a proper school, but he would like to believe he at least had the brains to piece together the very obvious declaration Moomin has given him. For some reason, he’s having a hard time thinking of a response. He’s also having difficulty remembering how to breathe.

A long pause stretches out between them. Too long. Moomin looks away dejectedly, already coming to a conclusion of his own. “It’s alright...You don’t have to answer. I was just-”

When Moomin’s voice breaks, something inside Snufkin does the same. As the troll launches himself to his feet and tries to dart away, Snufkin has enough willpower left to jump up and latch onto his arm. He solidifies his fate with this one action, but Moomin’s feelings have always taken priority in Snufkin’s life, no matter how much of a foothold his friend has had in it.

“Please don’t go.”

Moomin stays.

“I’m sorry. Y-You caught me off guard, that’s all. I...I would never leave the valley  _ forever _ . I would never leave  _ you _ , Moomin. You know that. You do know that, right?”

A few shimmering tears pile up in the corners of Moomin’s eyes. Snufkin’s heart plummets.

“Oh. Oh no, my dear Moomintroll. Please don’t-I never, ever meant...Why would you-? Is it because of all those years I was late?”

“It was only three times,” Moomin corrects weakly, then immediately tenses. “Oh! Snufkin it wasn’t your fault, though! There was that one year you caught that nasty cold, and the other when the river flooded, and and-”

_ This year, _ Snufkin thinks despairingly. This year when he hadn’t been sick. This year when nature hadn’t sabotaged his return trip. No, this year something much more imposing than bad luck had kept Snufkin wandering the southern forests. This year, Snufkin had dared to reflect on the many feelings he had buried deep, deep down. What he discovered scared him so much he thought foolishly that he could hide from it. But he returned to Moominvalley all the same, the latest he had ever been.

With fall coming early, followed closely behind by winter, it’s no wonder Moomin felt the need to confess when he did. They’ve both reached their first true year of adulthood, and with that new chapter comes freedom. Freedom to change, to move away, to separate.

Snufkin trails his hand down until it’s intertwined with Moomin’s. He gives it a mighty squeeze, his muscles tight with despair. Moomin trails off, staring at their hands.

“I needed more time alone this year,” Snufkin admits, his voice but a regretful murmur.

Moomin nods expectantly. “I see…”

Snufkin squeezes his hand again, harder. “You know how much I treasure my solitude, Moomin.”

“More than anything.”

Snufkin shakes his head. “No. That’s not true.”

Years ago, Snufkin would have never dared to cup Moomin’s face in his hand. A year ago, he still wouldn’t have had the courage to do it. But now, with the sun illuminating this destined moment with golden warmth and bountiful promise, he knows how needed the leap is.

“I treasure you far more.”

Big, fat tears roll down Moomin’s cheeks. Snufkin brushes them away with the pad of his thumbs only for fresh ones to appear.

“Oh, my Moomintroll. I’m so sorry. Hey now, it’s alright.”

Moomin can’t help himself. He tries to pull away but Snufkin sure isn’t letting go of him now. “I was just s-so  _ scared. _ ”

“I know. I know. I wish I could’ve helped you. I wish I’d been brave enough to tell you sooner.”

Moomin gives a lopsided smile. “It doesn’t matter now...does it?”

Snufkin smiles back. “It can if you want it to.”

Moomin thinks for a moment. “Maybe later.”

They bask in a shared laugh. Snufkin’s insides are warm and bubbly, but an inkling of terror has in fact mixed its way in despite himself. This is the beginning of a new chapter in their lives, one that they share together. And while Snufkin doesn’t shy away from the commitment, he finds himself fearing something far greater. Something, like love, he will come to understand with time.

The more he tries to pinpoint what it is, the stronger that terror becomes. Moomin notices his sudden shift in mood, ears pricking to attention. “Snufkin?”

“I’m...I’m scared, Moomin.”

Moomin smiles softly. “I know. I am too.”

“What does this...what does this  _ mean? _ What are we now?”

Moomin cocks his head. “Boyfriends?”

The label hits Snufkin like a sucker punch. He feels the blood drain from his face, air leaving his lungs. He doesn’t mean to start trembling, but his body is no longer his to control.

“O-Or not! Or…not,” Moomin struggles.

“N-No,” Snufkin squeaks out. “We are...something. Just…”

“No labels?”

“No labels.”

Moomin smiles patiently. “But more than friends.”

A lump rises to Snufkin’s throat. He nods furiously.

“Aww, Snufkin. We can’t both be crying!”

Snufkin didn’t even know he  _ was _ crying. He rubs harshly at his eyes, his sleeve coming back spotted with tears. “I want this. I r-really do. It’s just…”

“A lot?”

“A  _ lot _ .”

“You’ve never done this before, have you?”

“Never,” he admits shamefully. “But not even that. I’ve...never given so much to anyone before. Not even my own parents. T-That’s what normal people do, right? But not me. And I  _ want  _ to, but...what if I  _ can’t? _ ”

Moomin’s tail uncurls, now swaying apprehensively atop the grass. “Well...I think you already have given me a lot. Your kindness, your time, your loyalty. I don’t need much more than you, and I already have that. However much more you want to give, you can give at your own pace. I’d never rush you.”

The emotions flowing inside Snufkin boil over. For as far back as Snufkin can remember, this is the hardest he has ever cried in front of someone before.

“Oh Snufkin! If you keep crying then I’ll keep crying too!”

They do keep crying, and they don’t stop for a long while. Not until Snufkin’s bones are as heavy as the rocks beneath the stream. His head is pressed into Moomin’s shoulder before he realizes it, and his more-than-a-friend makes quick work in enveloping him into a firm embrace.

Moomin’s touch sends a bolt of electricity up his spine, sharper than any spark from a hattifattener. This is new too, the touching, holding, hugging, whatever name for it is used. The most contact Snufkin settles with is often a hearty handshake. He stiffens at first, and for a few moments he stays that way. But once Moomin’s tail curls around him, he melts like butter atop a crisp slice of toast.

It’s all foreign, and horrifying, and personal, and smothering, but most importantly of all it’s  _ nice _ .

When they finally do pull apart, the sun has begun its trek across the other side of the earth. They sky is a faint caramel, with the clouds acting as the flat cream spread across it. Snufkin looks to Moomin, just as ruffled and puffy-eyed as he is, and gives a wobbly beam.

“I love you, too, y’know.”

The endearment that blossoms along Moomin’s face makes the fear all the more worth it.


	2. Proposals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are sped along quite a bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! The response for this fic has been AMAZING! You all are incredibly kind! I'm a bit overwhelmed by how fast this fic has taken off already. I hope you all enjoy what's to come!

Keeping up with their tradition of unnecessary withholding information, Snufkin and Moomin decide to keep their relationship a secret.

There’s no real logic behind the decision, besides Snufkin’s rampant anxiety and Moomin’s devotion to calm said anxieties. It’s fairly easy to do in practice: keep physical contact to a minimum (they already do), no flirting out in public (both are far too bashful to even compliment the other normally), and act totally and utterly normal (like the messes they were before, luckily).

Moominvalley is oblivious to their relationship status all throughout summer and a fair chunk of the fall. Then, like all schemes, it is foiled by Little My.

The first couple-y thing Snufkin and Moomin had really started doing together was going on dates. Their idea of a date was almost identical to their normal, everyday adventures, just with a picnic set and more hand-holding. As of now, the two of them have been on a total of four dates, and this evening Snufkin is planning on taking Moomin to a secluded pond he stumbled upon on his daily wanderings. He waits at his tent, fiddling with his harmonica, wondering if the reeds surrounding the pond are tall enough to provide them enough cover if someone were to wander too close.

Snufkin is too lost in his thoughts and his melody to notice Little My has scampered her way right up to him. The mumrik jumps, blowing out a piercing E flat in surprise.

“My, have we been acting suspicious as of late,” the little mymble smirks. To call Little My little anymore is inaccurate, as the girl has sprout up as of late. But compared to everyone else in the valley, she is still the tiny menace she is known and loved(?) for.

“Everyone is suspicious to you,” Snufkin retorts, tucking away his harmonica. He hopes the heat in his face hasn’t transformed into a noticeable blush.

“True, but you’re the most suspicious of all.”

Snufkin forces a smile. “How so?”

Little My crosses her arms, favoring her weight on her left side more than her right. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed the little glances you’ve been sharing with a certain friend of ours.”

A cuss word places itself on the tip of Snufkin’s tongue, but he chooses a less-profane reaction. “A fellow is allowed to look at their friend with their eyes, are they not?”

“What you two are doing isn’t looking,” Little My clarifies. “What you two are doing is ogling.”

“We are not ‘ogling.’”

“Oh _really?_ ”

“Clearly you have no idea what ogling is.”

“And you have no idea what the word subtly means.”

Frustration grips Snufkin by the shoulders and spins him opposite of Little My. He stands up and brushes the dirt from his garments, hands shaking and face burning. The foundation of their coverup is being broken up by his humility, and the only defense he can use to fix it is to continue protesting her accusations. However, he opens his mouth to find his tongue has swollen to the size of a grapefruit.

“You know Moomin’s family adores you, right?” Little My asks.

There’s a severity in her tone that sets Snufkin on edge. He pretends not to hear her. Instead, he busies himself by pretending the zipper on his tent has snagged.

Little My sighs, but there’s no anger behind it. “What are you so afraid of? It’s obvious the whole valley approves of you two, and like you hardly care about what others think to begin with.”

Snufkin grabs onto the zipper to yank it down, but his burst of rage cools down to an icy terror. He grits his teeth to keep them from chattering, despite the weather being far from chilly.

“It’d be real.”

Snufkin can hear Little My rolling her eyes. “It’s already real, dummy.”

“ _Realer_ than...than what it already is.”

A beat, long enough for the realization to sink in. “Public, you mean.”

Snufkin barely has the strength to nod. It sounds much more shameful out loud than it does in his head. Little My sighs once more, her feet crunching against the dead, golden grass. She stands closer to him now, her voice much softer. “You’re not gonna mess this up, Snufkin.”

“How do you _know_ that?” He demands for an answer, but he begs for the bravery just to prompt it.

“Oh, I don’t know. Call it a hunch. Call it years of first spring days and farewell autumn letters. You are Moomin are thicker than thieves, though I suppose you probably are one in real life. Regardless...the bond you share with him isn’t going to be hurt by adding a little romance. If you continue to show him the same love and respect you did before, it’ll only strengthen it. You aren’t going to lose him.”

A choppy sigh cuts straight down Snufkin’s spine, severing his lungs. He adjusts his hat and blinks away the glossy film over his eyes, thought the world stays as watery as it was before. Snufkin has been doing a lot of crying as of late, and so far he hasn't appreciated it one bit. It’s far too messy and leaves his face feeling all itchy afterwards.

Footsteps are approaching from afar, and when Snufkin turns and pears over the near horizon, he spots Moomin making his way over with a fully-packed lunch. His heart swells, beating with an excitement that he has never known.

“I sure hope you’re right.”

Little My laughs. “I’m always right.”

Snufkin grins. “That you are.”

He takes off running. Long stalks of drying foliage tug at his cloak, but Snufkin is far too fast to let them cling on for long. He meets Moomin halfway from his tent, stumbling to a graceless halt.

“Oh!” Moomin scrambles not to drop his basket. “Sorry if I took too long. Is something the matter?”

Kindly, Snufkin takes the basket from Moomin’s hands and sets it on the ground. He fills his friend’s empty grip with his own sweaty palm.

“Um…? Is everything alright?” Moomin asks, validly concerned.

“Let’s go back to Moominhouse.”

“Oh. Okay. Is something wrong? What happened?”

Snufkin starts walking, pulling Moomin along with him. “We’re going to tell your parents about us.”

“About us?”

“Yes.”

“My parents?”

“Yes.”

Moomin stares at him long and hard, before suddenly bursting into a radiant beam. “Really?! Now?!”

“Yes!”

“ _Why?!_ ”

A sliver of a stream cuts across their path. Snufkin leaps over it, catching his footing and Moomin before he has the chance to fall. “It’s time for me to stop being a fool.”

“But you’re not a fool!”

“Well, it’s time for me to start acting like it!”

The red roof of the Moomin house pops into view. Just as the famous rope ladder from a certain someone’s window can be seen, Snufkin is yanked backwards with enough force to send him sprawling to the ground.

“Ah! I’m sorry!” Moomin helps him up just as soon as he tossed him down. “W-We don’t have to tell them now. I mean, if you’re ready we surely can! But...please, Snufkin, don’t force yourself to do anything you’re not comfortable with!”

There’s a patch of wavy, white curls atop Moomin’s head that Snufkin has the strong desire to ruffle. And he does exactly that. A red dusting covers Moomin’s cheeks.

“I want to, dear Moomintroll. I already think of your parents as family...why not make it official?”

Moomin’s eyes widen. “Is this...Snufkin...is this a proposal?”

Snufkin chokes on air.

“Ah! My bad! I read _too_ far ahead!”

Once Snufkin catches his breath, he breaks into a gentle laugh. “I meant make us official. Dating official. Marriage will come later. Much later.”

They soak in those weighted words. The midday breeze swirls around them as if to devote them all the world’s attention. Marriage. What a crazy thought. Marriage.

Oh no, Snufkin could never imagine himself married. And yet…

Moomin’s eyes sparkle like stars. “D-Do you really mean that?”

Too much. This is suddenly too much, and Snufkin would really rather be inside Moominhouse right now. He grabs Moomin’s hand again and starts walking at a brisk pace.

“Snufkin?”

A bead of sweat trails down Snufkin’s jawbone. His skin feels cold and clammy when he goes to wipe it away, like he’s suddenly caught some terrible illness. To even think about marriage, of tying himself down to someone for the rest of his life, goes against everything Snufkin is.

And yet what excuse does he have for these past twelve years of friendship with Moomin? What reason can he give for constantly returning to Moominvalley in the spring if he weren’t already so attached to this kind-hearted troll?

Perhaps the vague understanding Snufkin has of marriage isn’t quite the same as the real thing. Or maybe it’s meant to be interpreted differently through every wedded couple.

Oh, to heck with it. Twelve years has certainly been enough. Savoring this rare moment of bravery to its fullest, Snufkin stops, drops onto one knee, and pours out his entire being into Moomin’s own.

“Well, now that you’ve got me thinking about it...why not get married? Of course, i-if you’d like to wait and allow me to court you properly, I understand. But there’s no one I trust, or admire, or confide in more than you, my dear, _dear_ Moomintroll. I ask so much of you, whether that be your patience or understanding, as I am one of the most peculiar of creatures. But if I may ask one more thing of you...would you please marry me?”

What a jump. What a bountiful leap over the valley’s deepest, widest canyon. Yet here Snufkin kneals, knees stained by the red earth below, having never been so sure of something in his entire life. So sure of something so alien and daunting that he would allow it to change his life in such a fundamental way.

If anything, it just goes to show how truly amazing Moomin is to him.

But Moomin isn’t saying a word. His expression is just as silent. Before Snufkin realizes it, Moomin is pulling him back up to his feet. The fight-or-flight response kicks in, just as it does whenever a social conundrum becomes too looming to bear. Snufkin is already mapping out an escape route, one that involves tossing himself into the nearby river and swimming as far south as his body can manage. His heartbeat pounds in his skull like a drum, his bones rattling with enough energy to combust the earth.

Oh God. Moomin is going to say no.

And then their noses are touching.

It occurs to Snufkin that Moomin and him have had quite a significant series of firsts. First meeting, first adventure, first confession. But never a first kiss. Or at least, first Moomin kiss. A simple rubbing of the noses, soft skin against even softer fur.

Snufkin is bursting with warmth, his whole body aflame. Moomin pulls back, smiling harder than he ever has before, and breathes out an elated, “ _Yes._ ”

And so they head off to Moominhouse, hand in hand, unexpectedly, happily engaged. Without a ring on either of their fingers or a care in the world.

For now at least.

“Snufkin, what about the picnic basket?”

“Don’t worry. I’m sure Little My is already taking care of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> moomin announcing their engagement to the valley: we're getting married!!  
> literally everyone: and you weren't already??????
> 
> I wasn't planning on having the proposal be so early but sometimes it be like that. Idk it just felt natural and i really really needed to write this scene for some reason today.


	3. Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winter comes, as it always does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't promise I'll always be able to upload a chapter a day. AP exams are approaching and I can already feel the anxiety of that onslaught settling in. Regardless, THANK YOU ALL FOR 1000 HITS!!! In two days too???? That's absolutely wild I don't deserve y'all <3

For a week, everyone is happy.

The marriage of the century (as Snorkmaiden has referred to it) is at the front of every mind in the valley. While life post-engagement may not be that different from before, it does come with a heightened level of activity. Any living creature with a mouth has asked the couple one of two questions: “When are you getting married?” and “You weren’t married before?!”

Moomin handles the added attention in stride. The troll has always been a people person, filling the focus of every conversation with ease and comfort. From an outsider’s perspective, he may act like any husband-to-be whose dying to slide a metal band around his finger.

But Snufkin knows Moomin too well not to see through his bubbly facade. It’s clear Moomin is purposefully putting himself in the stoplight, all to keep Snufkin out of it. Not once since proposing has Snufkin left Moomin’s side. Not once has he considered sneaking off into the woods to fight off the social agitation. He’s drained himself nearly dry doing so, but Snufkin would rather run on rumes than ditch Moomin at such an important moment of their lives.

So the week runs on. Moominmama asks them to retell the story of their proposal what must be a dozen times. Moominpapa writes it down a dozen times more. He claims he can never quite capture the emotion behind Snufkin’s words. More likely, it’s because his tears smudge the ink to an unreadable state. Snorkmaiden decides she’s going to be Moomin’s maid of honor, and convinces Snork to whip up a pair of wedding bands to their liking.

But the week ends with the first snowflakes of winter dusting the ground. The rings are put on hold the day Snork goes to hibernate.

One by one, the people of Moominvalley turn in for a months-long sleep. The weather worsens it seems with each passing day, but not to the point it would be impossible to travel through.

Snufkin still has the chance to leave.

“When will you be going, Snufkin?”

Moomin’s voice is barely above a whisper, nearly breaking on his last word. Snufkin is roused from his thoughts. He takes his eyes off his own reflection in the frost-covered window to gaze upon his beloved’s. There’s a tight crease between Moomin’s eyebrows, his tail twitching with worry.

Snufkin picks himself off the floor of Moomin’s living room and sits himself down beside Moomin on the couch. “That’s a good question,” he answers stupidly, knowing it’s of little help. To him or to Moomin.

“You should go soon if you are. I don’t want you to get caught in a blizzard…”

“I have time.” _To decide_ , he doesn’t add. Foolishly. “Have you been eating your pine needles? It’s going to be a long winter if you sleep on an empty stomach.”

Moomin curls in on himself, slumping against Snufkin’s side. He is impossibly gentle despite his mass and size. It’s similar to spooning a gigantic pillow. “It’s going to be long regardless.”

The words tear Snufkin to shreds. Moomin catches himself, tensing up.

“N-Not that you can’t leave! I’d...I’d never want you to feel trapped, of course. And with all the fuss recently...I know you want to go.”

Moomin must know more about Snufkin than he does himself, because right now he’s not sure if he wants to go at all. Mostly because of what it would do to poor Moomin. After already being dreadfully late the previous year. After proposing so suddenly without the proper time to consider the consequences. After only having one season to be their new selves proper.

For all Moomin knows, Snufkin may use winter as a chance to escape from it all. Forever.

There can be none of that nonsense. Not now. Not ever.

Snufkin gropes for Moomin’s hand and brings it up to his lips. He presses a firm kiss against his knuckles, nuzzling the fur with his chapped lips.

“I’ll miss you dreadfully if I go,” he admits without an ounce of resistance. “In fact, I’m sure I’d run right back if I left.”

Moomin takes in a sharp breath, but still does not seem at ease. “You haven’t hibernated in years. It’d be hard to get back into the habit of it now.”

“It’s easier to sleep than to say goodbye,” Snufkin protests.

“You _need_ to go,” Moomin insists, his hand trembling in Snufkin’s grasp. “I-If you don’t...oh, you’d just be miserable.”

“Or I could stay and already be far less miserable.”

“Please, Snufkin. I know how much you love-”

Snufkin doesn’t let him finish. He cuts off his fiance with a kiss on his nose before burying his face into the fur under his chin. The act still makes him bashful, part of the reason why he doesn’t have the mind to do it more often. It’s quite enjoyable. Frankly, he’s missing out.

“Let me stay.”

A beat of silence passes. Then Moomin pulls him into a firm hug, resting his head atop of Snufkin’s. “Only if you want to.”

“I do.”

“What if you can’t sleep?”

“I’ll pay Too-Ticky a visit.”

“What if I can’t sleep?”

“Then wake me. We’ll visit her together.”

The wind whistles obnoxiously from the outside. Snufkin has never had a problem with any force of nature, but he has quite the bone to pick with Mother Earth right now.

“It would kind of be like you were alone,” Moomin remarks quietly. “If you were the only one awake all winter.”

“It’d be like we had the whole valley to ourselves,” Snufkin adds. “I bet it gets rather quiet around here, doesn’t it?”

“Too quiet...you’d like it, I think.”

Snufkin smiles. “I’ll soon find out.”

“It’s not very pretty, you know. The snow covers absolutely everything. It’s maddening.”

“Well, snow is wont to do that.” His remark earns a weak chuckle from Moomin. The sound makes Snufkin’s heart sing. “I bet there will be areas of the valley left untouched.”

“Believe me there isn’t,” Moomin grumbles.

“Oh-ho? Then I’ll have to go find them, because I _know_ they exist.”

Another chuckle. The pair melts into each other, the discomfort vanishing. “Only if you wake up,” Moomin reminds him.

“Only if I wake up.”

 

They wake up.

It’s not even an hour into the first night of hibernation. Snufkin stares up from his makeshift cot in Moomin’s room, the pattern of the ceiling fairly interesting in the pale moonlight. At least until Moomin finally stops stirring and sits completely upright.

“I hate pine needles,” he mutters grumpily. “Grab your scarf.”

They leave deep footprints in their wake as they so galavanting through the snow, breathless with a sudden force of giddiness. The bite from the crisp air calls upon Snufkin’s more mischievous tendencies, and when Moomin’s back is turned he quickly scrounges up a handful of snowballs.

The troll is an easy target, unfairly so. Snufkin doesn’t care. He reels back and wallops Moomin right in the back of the head.

“ _Oi!_ ” Moomin spins around fast enough to give himself whiplash. “Ooooohhh, it’s on!”

The battle rages on for a matter of minutes, and near the end Snufkin believes himself to be victorious. He’s pelted Moomin with enough snowballs to turn him into a furry icicle. He readies his last snowball, Moomin only two feet before him, but his fiance has other plans. Right as the snowball goes flying, Moomin leaps forward, tacking them both into the snow.

“Betrayal!” Snufkin wheezes. He tries to laugh but the weight on his chest makes it incredibly hard to.

Moomin steals a chance to rub their noses together before shoving himself off, giggling uncontrollably. “This way we both win!”

“Or lose, depending on how you look at it.”

Moomin holds out a hand for him to take. The midnight breeze sways softly against his fur, the snowflakes embedded in it sparking under the blooming moonlight. His toothy grin glistens under that same light. The rosy hue of his cheeks spreading up to the crinkles in the corner of his eyes.

Snufkin finds it impossible to take his eyes off him.

Moomin cocks a brow. “What are you looking at me that way for?”

“You’re beautiful.”

Moomin blinks, gasping softly. “Y-You’re...yeah, y-you too.”

Snufkin laughs, taking his hand. He’s lifted gracefully back to his feet.

They wander the pearly white wilds of the valley, hands brushing up against each others until they are finally interwoven. Snufkin keeps his eyes peeled for a sliver of greenery, Moomin just as on edge as a result. They make it all the way to the beach’s edge, where the last of the ocean waves yet to freeze lap up lazily against it. Already, there’s a warm light glowing from within the Moomin family’s bathhouse. Moomin waves to it, though there’s no telling if Too-Ticky is awake to return the gesture.

From there, they teeter towards the thicker parts of the woods. Here, Snufkin knows they’ll find some remnant of the forgotten fall. Moomin remains unconvinced, but his spirits never waver. Clearly he’s not tapping his joy purely out of their silly bet.

“I don’t think you’re going to find what you’re looking for, Snufkin.”

A puff of air much lighter than pipe smoke passes between Snufkin’s lips. “Are you just saying that because you’re cold?” Suddenly, he spots it. “There! I told you!”

Moomin gazes upon the same stretch of forest Snufkin is, but comes up empty. “I don’t see it. You’re lying!”

“No I’m not! C’mon!”

They trudge through thick patches of snow until Snufkin’s snow-covered tent comes into full view. Moomin crosses his arms, a smug look plastered onto his face.

“Ha! Good try, Snufkin.”

But Snufkin isn’t finished yet. Tied to the top bar of his tent is a sturdy piece of rope, and that same rope is connected to a handmade pulley hanging off a slumbering tree. With only a few hearty tugs, the tent is lifted above the ground and a rug of rotted orange grass is uncovered. Not a speck of snow is to be seem among it.

Moomin feigns a fit of anger. “That’s cheating! I want a divorce!”

Snufkin is so shaken by laughter he almost forgets to knot the pulley line so the tent won’t come crashing back down.  He stands on the grass and motions for Moomin to join him. The troll does so with fake reluctancy.

“Told you there’d be a spot,” Snufkin smirks.

Moomin grits his teeth, desperate not to bust out laughing. He fails spectacularly. There he goes again, being the most magnificent sight Snufkin has ever seen. No natural wonder of the world can compare. And he’s only for Snufkin to see. They are truly alone on their own little slice of the valley, but it’s a loneliness Snufkin thinks he could do with more of.

“We should have a wedding like this,” he blurts, to his own surprise.

“Standing on dead grass in the cold?” Moomin quips.

“No. The grass should definitely be greener,” he clarifies. “And the air should be warmer. But it should be somewhere here. You. And Me. Alone. In the forest...if you’d like?”

Moomin’s eyes light up. “A secret forest wedding.”

“Y-You’d like that?”

When Moomin goes to kiss him this time, it’s a bit different. Different in the sense that it’s not their noses doing the bulk of the contact. It’s their lips. When they part, Snufkin is left starstruck and a fair bit breathless.

“I’d love that,” Moomin whispers, as if talking any louder would be an offence to their shared solitude. “We have the winter to plan, but I don’t care what we do as long as it's in the spring.”

Every fiber of Snufkin’s being is burning with admiration. It will amaze him if he could somehow be any happier than he is right now. “The f-first day of spring, perhaps?”

Moomin’s eyes light up even more. “Perfect.”

 

It feels odd sharing a bed with Moomin. Even in the first tough onslaught of winter’s wrath. Even when they’re happily engaged and ready to be wed in the spring (The first day of spring. The very first day. Not a day before, not a day after).

Snufkin isn’t one for obsessive physical contact, but like all things, Moomin manages to be the exception. Their legs are tangled up in a pile of fleshy/furry knots, with their arms floundering every which way there is warmth under the covers. Moomin’s tail is trapped underneath Snufkin’s back, but if it bothers the troll he makes no note of it.

They may wake up tomorrow morning. They may not. But rest assured, one won’t be awake without the other.

Moomin snuggles in close, eyelids droopy. “G’night Snuf…”

He’s already gone. Snufkin laughs silently, peppering Moomin’s nose with kisses lighter than the fluttering of a butterfly’s wings.

“Goodnight, love.”

Snufkin sleeps peacefully through his first winter night in Moominvalley.


	4. Worries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Change can be daunting, especially for a mumrik who has gone through much of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops I slipped and some angst got into the fic, but it's not that bad I promise
> 
> Brief warning for very mild descriptions of a panic attack. Everyone will be fine, but you all stay safe too. A fic shouldn't ever compromise that <3
> 
> Thank you all so much for 2000 hits!!!! All of your comments have put a smile on my face :)

A simple thought wakes Snufkin from his slumber. A thought so beyond his normal range of concerns, its foreignness strikes much later in the day.

He wants to make pancakes.

Partially, to calm the grumbling of his stomach. Mostly because he wants Moomin to wake up to a hot, delicious breakfast.

It takes some doing to untangle himself from Moomin and their crumpled bed sheets, but his determination is not deterred. Moomin groans weakly once separated, but his eyes remain closed. Snufkin kisses his fiance’s forehead, pads lightly across the room, and closes the door without a single peep. It won’t be much of a surprise if Moomin wakes up, of course.

The trek down to the kitchen is just as meticulous. He avoids every floorboard he knows to be loose, and retrieves his needed ingredients as quietly as possible. His focus is centered entirely on achieving his domestic agenda. No amount of carelessness is going to get in his way.

Pour. Whisk. Pour again. The process is monotonous, yet oddly therapeutic. The smell from the batter is another added bonus; like bread that has yet to be baked. Which makes sense, given pancakes are carbs too. Baking is crazy.

Baking. That’s what he’s doing, isn't he? Baking. Honest to goodness baking.

Snufkin puts his first cake on the freshly-lit burner. The puddle of beige mush stares up at him, waiting with him for the pan to heat up. His arms seem to be absorbing the bulk of the heat coming from the burner, given how warm his sleeves are.  _ Baking must teach one how to be patient, _ he thinks.

It takes several minutes for the pancake’s surface to bubble, but when it does Snufkin grins with excitement. His first pancake is finally baking! It hasn’t exploded or deformed or gone awry in any other way! Giddy, he reaches for his spatula and stands at the ready.

Then it happens.

_ It _ happens.

It strikes without warning. Unsuspecting, when Snufkin is bent unceremoniously over his pancake, clueless and carefree as a baby bird.

The panic sets in.

The premarital panic.

Snufkin’s chest suddenly seizes, lungs collapsing, heart expanding. He grips his tunic as if to pull the pain free of himself, spatula falling to the floor. Winded, he stumbles back from the stove and collides with the dining chair behind him.

He’s baking. He’s engaged. He’s getting married the first day of spring.

He also can’t breathe. Oh, why is it so hard just to  _ breathe? _ What kind of sick, twisted game is his mind playing on his body? He sinks to the floor, convulsing, on the cusp of a sob. His face burns from the lack of oxygen to his brain, not from the stove this time.

For as long as Snufkin can remember, his being has been torn in two. One half of him as belonged to the forest, to the wilds and the mysterious gravitation of nature. The other half has always belonged to Moomin, to the Moomin family and his friends of the valley, to laughter and smiles and love. Often times, the first half has won the tug-of-war of his heart. This is the first time the second half has ever had the upper hand.

But the victory comes with exhaustion. From resisting his anti-social tendencies. From allowing himself to become so emotionally vulnerable. From change.

And as much as he’s been saying yes to the change, yes to the domesticity, yes to the unfamiliarity, Snufkin can’t stop himself from finally saying  _ no _ .

He needs air, and there’s plenty of it outside. So that’s where he goes.

Then he starts running, and to his shame he never once considers stopping.

 

Too-Ticky isn’t at the bathhouse.

In her place is a handwritten note, the paper crinkled slightly at the edges. Snufkin grips it tightly, fingertips numb from the cold, and deciphers its cursive hieroglyphics.

_ Out fishing. I’ll be back soon lovebirds <3 Too-Ticky _

Even that sampling of kindness is too much for Snufkin to digest. He swallows down the bile in his throat, and abandons the note on top of Too-Ticky’s lantern.

The bathhouse is his. It’s heated, lit, and completely empty save for himself.

For once in his life, Snufkin hates the solitude.

Angry tears sting his frosted cheeks. It’s not fair. His two halves have been tainted by the other, and he is left without a solid identity to cling to. All this because he wanted a glimpse into a world that wasn’t meant for him. All because the tension that had been building between him and Moomin finally broke. All because Snufkin had to be a fool and fall madly, and completely, in love.

Oh, how desperately he wants to rid himself of all feeling! Every ounce of himself he does not understand!

How utterly useless he is as a result. Helpless to the point all he can think to do is sit on the floor and weep. His tears are remorseful, as it seems he’s made good work of killing the Snufkin he once knew.

Then, just as unexpectedly as  _ It _ occurred before, a shadow appears in the door’s window. Snufkin jolts, scooting backwards even though he has nowhere to run. The shadow has two pointy ears and a very round snout, one Snufkin littered with kisses just some hours ago.

_ Go away _ , he begs, horrified, but not of Moomin.

The door opens delicately, and a very sleepy troll looks at him accusingly.

“Were you the one that left the pancake on the stove?” Moominmama asks.

Snufkin started living without his parents when he was incredibly young. Not since he was two or three does he remember what it was like for his mother or father to hold him, and then then those memories are terribly vague. All he really remembers is the weight of his body against someone else's. Nothing that remarkable at all.

It’s quite a shock to himself when he throws his arms around Moominmama and cries once more. Another change. Another dangerous glance into the forbidden zone.

Moominmama doesn’t hesitate for a moment. She wraps her arms firmly around Snufkin’s middle, rubbing his back with small, tender strokes. “Oh, Snufkin! It’s alright, dear. It’s perfectly alright. You did everything right; you just forgot to take the pancake off the stove.”

Snufkin sniffs loudly. “I-I didn’t burn the house down, d-did I?”

“Just the pancake, dear. But there’s plenty of batter left to make another one. Why don’t you tell me what’s the matter and then we’ll go do just that?”

She must have some magic capabilities up her sleeves, because there’s no way Moominmama should be able to make Snufkin confess so  _ easily _ . “Oh Moominmama...it’s just too  _ much _ .”

“I know, child. You’re upset about Moomin, aren’t you?”

Snufkin shakes his head into her belly. “No. Not  _ about _ Moomin...a-about me and Moomin. A-And marriage, and pancakes and-Oh,  _ Mama- _ ”

“Shhh. I understand. I understand, dear. Let it all out now.” She gives Snufkin’s back a hearty pat as he begins to hiccup. “It’s completely normal to feel this way, after all. I myself was pretty shaken at the thought of marrying Moominpapa.”

“But you love Moominpapa?” Snufkin asks, profoundly puzzled.

“I most certainly do. To the moon and back and to the moon again. But marriage is a scary thing no matter how in love you are. It ruins your life in the best way possible.”

Snufkin starts crying even harder. Moominmama jumps.

“Oh, I didn’t mean it that way, Snufkin! I meant the  _ good _ kind of ruin. When you become someone you thought you could never be. You don’t forget who you were before falling in love, of course, but you do change. And this change is  _ good _ . You’re going to learn so much more about yourself, and while it may seem scary at first, you will be happier for it. You’re going to learn how to love, and  _ be _ loved, and Moomin will give you plenty of it.”

How whimsical she makes it sound. Her words hold a level of fondness Snufkin could never match now, but her sincerity makes him believe he could one day. “What if I can’t love him back enough?”

“Nonsense, Snufkin. You’ve given my son more love than I could have ever hoped for. You don’t know how grateful I am you’re going to officially become a part of our family.”

“Oh, but Moominmama, I fear I’ve already broken his heart,” he admits shamefully. “I ran all the way out here with the intent to keep running forever.”

“Everyone gets cold feet, Snufkin.” Moominmama pats his head, shaking the snowflakes from his scalp. “In your case, literally. But if the love is true and meant to last, you would’ve turned around sooner than you’d expect. Are you ready to turn back now, perhaps?”

Snufkin pulls away from her. He wipes the snot from under his nose, Moominmama looking away to give him privacy. “I believe so...though I’m too tired to run back now.”

Moominmama laughs, her voice sweeter than sugar. “It’s hard to love someone truly; it forces you to love yourself too. But I know you’ll figure out how soon enough. Were you by any chance making that pancake for Moomin?”

Snufkin nods. “I was. I’m really sorry for waking you.”

She only smiles. “How about I help you whip up a new batch before I head back to bed?”

There’s something else about marriage Snufkin completely forgot about: he won’t only be devoting himself to Moomin, but also his family.

Snufkin couldn’t ask for a greater one to be a part of.

 

A heavenly scent wafts through the air, waking Moomin from his slumber. He stretches lazily, mouth watering from the aroma and his many guesses as to what it could be coming from.

His paws latch sleepily against the covers, a large yawn escaping him. Moomin blinks the rest of the sleep from his eyes and finds that he is alone.

He rises with a start, throwing the covers to the side. Before he can fret too heavily, knowing the delicious smell could not possibly exist without someone to create it, he races downstairs. For a moment, he fears he’s just imagining things, and when he rushes to the kitchen he’ll find Snufkin has indeed run off to the southern wilds.

But the moment quickly passes. Snufkin is still here, knee bouncing underneath the kitchen table as he sits in front of a massive pile of pancakes. When Moomin enters the room, he tenses, then uncoils like a rusty, old spring..

“Good morning, love. I, uh...I made you some breakfast.”

Moomin takes immediate notice of the red rims under his eyes.

“Did you have trouble sleeping last night?”

Snufkin looks away bashfully. “No. No, I slept soundly. Would you...like to try a bite? I’ve never baked before so I hope it’s edible.”

Moomin shakes his head with a small smirk. He won’t press for details Snufkin isn't ready to give. “I’m sure they’re scrumptious.” He picks up a fork laid out expectedly for him on a crisp, white napkin and tears off a huge chunk of pancake.

It’s a bit overcooked, but it tastes like a true, buttery pancake. And because Snufkin made it, it tastes even more amazing.

“Mmm! Y’r a g’ud cook!” He takes another bite, savoring each morsel of care and effort put into it. “I can’t believe this is your first time baking anything.”

There’s a hint of sadness to Snufkin’s smile, one that worries Moomin to no end. But it quickly vanishes, and it replaced by a tenderness that is far more powerful. “I hope it’s filling enough.”

Moomin takes Snufkin’s hand from across the table, hoping he can squeeze whatever is ailing his fiance with his grip alone. “It’s more than enough. Thank you.”


	5. Breaks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things just take time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took my APUSH exam today and I am completely brain dead. Can't wait to get a 1!!!! The only good part about it are the memes on twitter that are giving me life. Milk and ticky tack yall
> 
> Just a liiiiitle bit more angst and then we're back on the fluff train I promise!

Snufkin goes to bed that night looking more tired than a dead man. His eyes are still raw, his cheeks flushed and his limbs jittery. Moomin doesn’t make a fuss over him wanting to sleep in the cot, nor does he refuse Snufkin’s request to be woken in a week. He simply kisses his fiance goodnight and wishes him a well-needed rest.

The fact that it’s well-needed to begin with is concerning. But Moomin knows if there’s one sure cure to Snufkin’s ailments, it’s time.

Moomin wakes the next morning to stale silence and a grey morning sky. Once again, he’s a lone soul waiting out the harsh winter months. He lessens the ache in his chest by watching Snufkin sleep. Every whistle from this fiance’s nose is as sharp and precise as the tabs of his harmonica.

There are plenty of pancakes left for Moomin to munch on when he finally goes downstairs. His bites are few and far between, appetite replaced for worry. The pancakes have a definite range of quality; some are perfectly rounded and golden, others are lopsided and charred. Moomin doesn’t doubt Snufkin could have perfected his talent a few pancakes in, but some certainly seem more on line with a batch his mother would make.

The quiet of the house engulfs him. Mute sirens blare in his ears. An hour alone and Moomin has already grown angsty.

At least there’s still one person out there for him to talk to. One good conversation would do him wonders right now.

Moomin leaves Snufkin a note on the dining table, even though he knows fully well the mumrik won’t wake to read it.

  
  


The various sets of footprints leading to the bathhouse are a bit disconcerting, especially the very tail-like stripes left across the wintery white canvas. Little by little, the events of yesterday morning piece themselves together, but Moomin can’t weave a tale as complete as his father quite yet. He promises himself not to jump to conclusions just yet.

A very Too-Ticky figure is illuminated through the main window. Before Moomin gets the chance to knock, it grows larger and more defined, turning into the blonde loiterer.

“Sorry I missed y’e two yesterdah,” Too-Ticky grins sheepishly as she opens the door. “The winter trout wer’ givin’ me quite a wee bit o’r trouble. Used up all mah bait!”

“I wasn’t aware we visited you at all yesterday,” Moomin explains. “Do you have a clue what all those footprints are about?”

Too-Ticky shrugs, never one to find herself disturbed. “Perhaps y’er was sleep walkin’ togethah. How romantic.”

Moomin frowns. “Snufkin was in an offly sour mood when I woke up. If we did, it was anything but romantic...you wouldn’t mind if I trailed you today, would you?”

“A wee bit lonely without your man?”

Moomin blushes. “M-Maybe.”

Too-Ticky waves him with a benign smile. “Don’t got any soup for y’e right now. I’m gonna try me luck fishin’ again lat’r. Would y’e like to go with me later? Aft’r we warm up o’r course.”

“I’d be glad to,” Moomin smiles back. “I’ve been meaning to get better at ice fishing.”

“The problem with y’e is you get too cold befor’ the fish get ah chance t’eh bite!” Too-Ticky chuckles. She adds another log onto the fire in the stove, the pile crackling much louder after the impact. “You’ll get t’eh hang of it eventually, though...So, Snufkin seemed sort’ah off, yesterdah?”

Moomin sits himself down on an overturned crate, deflating like a leaky balloon. “He wasn’t the day before,” he sighs anxiously. “But I think I know what happened.”

“And that is…?”

The truth stands poised on Moomin’s tongue, yet he can’t find the strength to drop it. Too-Ticky plops down herself on an old fishing barrel, folding her hands politely across her lap. There isn’t an ounce of judgement on her face, just two open, blue eyes.

“W-We planned to get married in the spring,” Moomin confesses, his throat tight.

Too-Ticky brightens. “That’s wonderful! But so soon!”

“Yes, and it’s supposed to be a secret.”

“I didn’t h’year a thing then,” she smiles slyly. “Let m’eh guess: y’e think Snufkin felt the date creep up o’h him fast’r than it did f’er y’eh.”

A searing pain engulfs Moomin’s insides. His head falls into his hands like a lead ball. “I rushed him. I know I did, and now...Oh, w-what if he wakes up and doesn’t want me anymore?”

“Nonsense. Dat d’er mumrik loves y’eh to pieces.”

“But I knew all along it was wrong!” Moomin protests, unable to forgive himself. “I...I should’ve asked him if was really okay with itl. I should have  _ made _ him wait.”

Aye, but y’e didn’t,” Too-Ticky points out, picking the fresh scab. “Why’s dat?”

A heavy guilt falls upon Moomin’s shoulders. “Because...I didn’t want to. I was too happy to think. All I wanted was him. And he looked so damn  _ happy _ -Ah, don’t tell him I cursed. He hates it when people swear. The last thing I need is to make him even worse for wear...”

Not so subtly (but perhaps intentionally), Too-Ticky rolls her eyes. “Aww, Moomin. Y’e two have been madly in love for years. It ain’t that hard t’eh tell. If y’e want to wait a little bit longah to marr’ay, it doesn’t mean ye’ve fallen out o’r love or anythin’. If anythin,’ it shows how much y’e val’ye your relationship. To put so much time ah’n effort in’tah it.”

Moomin looks at his paws. Patches of his fur are disrupted and uneven. He’s in need of a thorough haircut. “Maybe we should postpone it.” He laughs bitterly. “To think I actually want winter to last for once…”

Rising slowly to her feet, Too-Ticky shakes her head sadly. She grabs her fishing pole off the wall and pats him heavily on the shoulder. “C’mon. Da fish should be out by now. Nothin’ better to take y’er mind off than some good, ol’ fishin.”

 

The fish are plentiful, as are Moomin’s thoughts. By the time Too-Ticky and him return to the bathhouse, he is five trouts richer and more bothered than he was to begin with. It’s of no help that the mysterious footprints are outside waiting to taunt him.

Too-Ticky makes her famous soup for lunch, but Moomin’s appetite has still not returned. He regrets making a bowl to begin with. Too-Ticky talks aimlessly about her winter shenanigans, and in an attempt not to appear even more impolite he tries his hand at listening instead of drifting off into his own worries. It spends the rest of his energy, leaving him pitifully lethargic.

He declines Too-Ticky’s offer to walk him home, instead assuring her by promising he’ll visit the next day. The walk back home is as uneventful as they come. His crunching footsteps echo loudly across the valley, but not loud enough to rouse anyone. His source of company remains limited.

There’s no lights on from within Moominhouse. Moomin should have expected as such, but he gets his hopes up anyway. 

The house is still too quiet, too lifeless to bear. Moomin retreats back to his bedroom, mindful not to wake Snufkin as much as he wants to. He lays back down on his bed, as lost as a kite in a tornado.

Longing overwhelms him, worse than it ever did before confessing. No one told Moomin loving someone hurt so much.

If only he could talk to Snufkin. Snufkin has always calmed him down, even when he was the source of Moomin’s heartache.

Well, why not talk then?

“Hello Snufkin.”

The room draws to attention. Already, the silence is less imposing. Moomin watches Snufkin, waiting to see if he will stir, but he he does no such thing.

“I know you’re not feeling your best. I’m not either...I wish I could help you. I wish you were awake so I could tell you everything was okay. Because it is okay. But I know you need your space. I’m sorry I can’t give you that...I went to see Too-Ticky today. She’s enjoying the weather, which boggles my mind. I mean, what’s so special about winter? It’s cold, and quiet, and lonely...She’s a lot like you, really. There’s something about it the loneliness you two are fond of. I don’t get it...but I know you need your space. I always have. If I’ve ever...i-if I’ve ever-”

He cuts himself off, unable to speak. The sadness deep within Moomin’s soul has taken hold. He is suddenly very tired, more so than he thought was ever possible.

“Well...I’d hope you’d tell me if I did. I love you so much…I’d never want you to feel trapped. And if I am...just know I want what's best for you. A-And if that means letting you go-”

Not another word will come out. Moomin shuts his eyes, squeezing them tight, hoping no tears will come out. He doesn’t dare open them, and before he knows it he’s fallen into a fitful sleep.

 

The only reason Moomin gets out of bed the next day is to visit Too-Ticky. If it were up to him, he’d spend the rest of his life bundled up in his covers, letting each season pass him by like a thunderstorm in the night. When Moomin thinks back on all his spring memories, he finds the sun seems a little bit dimmer. There’s no looking forward to that.

Snufkin is still dead to the world, sleeping as hard as a rock. Moomin reaches down to kiss him good morning, but about halfway down he loses the heart for it.

He retreats downstairs, tail dragging along the steps. Trudging into the kitchen, he decides sorrowfully there’s no sense in leaving a note for Snufkin before going out. He crumples up the previous day’s into a tight ball and tosses it in the waste bin.

Call it some sort of magic. Call it compulsion. Call it whatever you will, but for some reason Moomin’s gut tells him to retrieve his note and unfold it. Already feeling silly enough, he does exactly so. On the backside of the paper, warped from all the wrinkles, is a message in someone else's’ handwriting. It is far too blocky to match Moomin’s curly letters. He scans through it intently.

_ Never once have you trapped me, my dear Moomintroll. Don’t be sad. I will tell you everything once I wake up for good. _

_ Love you. _

Moomin clutches the note close to his chest. He imagines instead he’s doing the exact same to Snufkin. His fiance told him not to be sad, but the tears come anyway. However, he finds once the tears have stopped they were never sad to begin with.

Six more days. Six more days and everything will be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Too-Ticky's accent in Moominvalley gives me such life love that funky scottish lesbian


	6. Talks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maturity is needed when moving forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw Detective Pikachu today and it was really good!!! I know little to nothing about Pokemon besides my brother loves it and it was really special to see how much he enjoyed it <3 I love him so much
> 
> Sorry this chapter is a bit shorter than normal, but I felt like the arc of the last two chapters needed to be fully resolved in this one before continuing the story. Thank you all for 3000 hits and for being absolutely amazing human beings :)

In his dreams, Snufkin wanders the vastness of the southern wilds, exploring all nature has to offer him. He walks alongside glistening streams, runs his hands along gardens of exotic flowers, and meets creatures of all shapes and sizes. His fantasies manifest into breathtaking spectacles: the tallest mountains, the sweetest fruits, the most beautiful sights.

The sight Snufkin wakes up to, however, is more beautiful than them all.

“It’s been a week,” Moomin whispers, giving Snufkin the most gentle shake to rouse him proper.

Snufkin smiles drunkenly. “Good morning, then. You saw my message, didn’t you?”

A shadow casts itself over Moomin’s face. Snufkin’s stomach drops. “I did. But before you say anything...I think we should postpone the wedding.”

Snufkin bolts upright, startling Moomin. His drowsiness is banished, his concerns rushing out all at once. “What? What do you mean? W-We don’t need to do that. I’m fine.”

Moomin puts a hand on his knee, squeezing it lightly. “It’s all happening too fast. For both of us, really.”

Snufkin takes the path of most resistance, or more accurately the path that must surely lead to his fiance’s happiness.. “N-No. No, Moomin. I’ll...I’ll be ready by spring, and you will too.”

“But we don’t  _ have _ to be,” Moomin stresses. “More spring days will come, and we don’t even have to wait till then.”

“B-But…” Snufkin frowns regretfully. “It’s the first day! That’s when-!”

“I know,” Moomin stops him. “But that will always be a special day. I don’t want you to stress yourself out again. This is new for both of us, but for you especially.”

Snufkin gives a shaky sigh. He cups a hand against Moomin’s cheek, pulling him in closer. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

“I  _ do _ worry though,” Moomin confesses, his eyes shimmering. “We’re so different, Snufkin...Do you ever think about that?”

Snufkin rubs a thumb along his fur. “I do.”

“It was so hard, even for just a week to be without you.” Moomin swallows thickly, looking away. “I think it’s worse now, being engaged…”

The dejection in his voice is soul-crushing, pushing Snufkin to hysterics. “No no no, dear. Whatever it is you’re thinking, it isn’t true. We just have to work things out. W-We can’t keep pushing ourselves aside in order to do it. Remember what I wrote you? You said you read it. You have never,  _ ever _ made me feel trapped...but I feel so awful to know I’ve made you feel this way.”

Moomin laughs curtly. “We both feel awful...so what do we do?”

“Please don’t leave me.”

Moomin blinks. “I-What?! No! Snufkin, never!”

“I’m sorry.” He pulls Moomin into a crushing embrace. “I’m sorry. I just...I need you. I can’t go back to staying quiet anymore. Now that I’m allowed to love you...I-I can’t stop.”

“You don’t have to,” Moomin reassures him. His tail wraps around Snufkin’s waist, tying him to reality. “I can’t do that again, either. The pining, the longing...Oh, Snufkin it was so horrible.”

“I know.”

“How did we last so long? Why did we _ do _ it?”

Snufkin huffs out a laugh. “We knew no better, I suppose.”

“Yeah…” Moomin takes a long, deep breath. “Let’s...wait, until spring. And if either of us isn’t completely,  _ absolutely _ ready, then we’ll hold off.”

What Moomin is proposing is a raincheck. What Snufkin is trying not to hear is an escape plan. “I promise you I’ll be ready,” he grits out, fighting the unbridled loner within him.

“That’s a promise I’m forcing you to break.” A gentle paw runs through Snufkin’s hair. “I can’t even promise you  _ I’ll _ be ready. It’s a big step.”

“But-” Snufkin stops himself, just not fast enough.

“But what?”

“But…” He grimaces, afraid of what he’s going to say next. “You’ve done this before. You’ve taken big steps with other people. Me, I’ve-...Every step I could’ve made, I found a way around it. E-Every time you asked to follow me south...I turned you down. I had to turn you down.”

Moomin waits a beat before speaking. “Why did you have to?”

Snufkin buries his face into Moomin’s warm chest. “I knew if I spent that much time with you, I would crack. A-And if you weren’t able to return my affections...it would’ve broken me. I-It’s so hard for me to get attached to anyone, and if y-you...you…”

“But none of that ever happened,” Moomin reminds him softly. “I’m  _ yours _ , Snufkin. Today, tomorrow, the first day of spring...forever and always. Nothing’s going to change that.”

“I love you. So  _ much _ .”

“I love you too. So, so much.”

They stay like that for a while, limbs interwoven, whispering sweet nothings into each other’s ear. For all Snufkin knows, they’ve been there for an eternity. All time belongs to them, to use however they see fit.

 

Months flow by with ease. Some days the couple spends out in the winter wonderland. They pay Too-Ticky countless visits, and explore every nook and cranny of the forest they can find. Other days are spent in each others arms, slumbering peacefully to escape the cold.

Before they know it,the snow has melted away and the foliage returns to its plush, vibrant self. Spring has indeed sprung.

As the sun fully rises, Moomin takes Snufkin by the hand and leads them both onto the front porch. The valley is waking up, and this is their last chance to savor some true time along together.

Birds are chirping their morning melodies, and Snufkin retrieves his harmonica from his pocket to join them. It wouldn’t be spring without his famous spring tune after all. He looks to Moomin, finding only compassion in his fiance’s eyes, and breaks his promise.

“I’m not ready.”

Moomin smiles. “Me neither.”

Reborn, Snufkin puts his harmonica to his lips and begins to play.


	7. Risks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Date night takes an unexpected turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so mayyyyyybbbbeeee this isn't the end of the angst train yet. I played myself. Here's where that be gay, do crime: newlyweds edition tag comes into play! Even if they aren't technically newlyweds yet

“You wouldn’t happen to own a comb, I suppose Snufkin?”

Snufkin winces as Snorkmaiden pulls her fingers free of his knotted hair for what must be the fifth time. His scalp had been riddled raw with sharp, electric tingles. Clustered in a small pile behind his back are unsalvageable tufts of hair that had to be clipped off. “It never occured to be it would get _this_ bad.”

“Yes, well that’s what happens when you never brush your hair.” Snorkmaiden picks another young baby’s breath from the earth and begins another braid atop his head. “I’m going to give you one, and you _better_ not throw it away.”

Snufkin laughs knowingly. “I guess holding onto one more material item wouldn’t hurt.”

A comfortable silence settles between them. Snorkmaiden finds less tangles to wrangle with, and continues with her braiding without interruption. Meanwhile, Snufkin watches the gentle ripples of his bobber in the river. The fish today have been few and far between, but the activity never fails to be relaxing. And on a fine, sunny day such as this, it’s increasingly so.

“What’re you planning on doing with Moomin today?” Snorkmaiden inquires, voice overly sweet. A blush rises to Snufkin’s cheeks. He adjusts his hold on his fishing pole, bobber splashing above the surface.

“Oh, I thought we could have a little campfire out on the beach. I wanted to roast some fish, but looks like those plans will have to change.”

Snorkmaiden hums in acknowledgement. “They haven’t been as peckish today, have they? Well, it’s still a cute idea. Then again, everything you two do is overly cute.”

Snufkin is attacked by a bashful coughing spree. “Y-Yeah, maybe.”

“Oi! Stop moving! You’ll get me tangled again!” There are a few more light tugs and the snap of a rubber band, until finally Snorkmaiden announces she’s, “All done.”

Snufkin digs the end of his pole into the ground and abandons it. He swivels around to face her, taking the handheld mirror waiting for him. Holding it up to his face, Snufkin is overjoyed to see an elaborate braid curled around his forehead. A million tiny flowers have been woven along in it, dotting his head with light violets and blues.

“My, Snorkmaiden. It looks fantastic!”

“You like it?”

Snufkin delicately runs his fingers along the braid, not wanting to ruin her hard work. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

Snorkmaiden beams. “It’s not everyday you ask someone to do your hair for you. In fact, I don’t think you’ve ever asked. Why get all fancy today? I thought it was just a normal date night.”

“It is,” he assures her. “I...wanted to try something new.”

She shoots him a look. “You? Try something new?”

He nods, just as surprised as she is. But not upset. No, if Moomin has taught him anything, it’s that new experiences don’t have to be.

“Aww, look at Snufkin. Comin’ out of his shell.” Snorkmaiden packs her mirror back up in her satchel, patting the flap closed. “I know you two have postponed the wedding, but if you ever want to get those rings made-”

“I’m sure Snork is willing,” Snufkin cuts her off. “But...I’d need to talk to Moomin first. We’re still trying to take things slow.”

She nods. “I understand. Take all the time you need. But not too much time! I’ve had my maid-of-honor speech ready since last fall!”

Snufkin starts to laugh, but just as he goes there’s a rough tug on his pole. He barely has his hands around it before it’s plucked from the ground, nearly ripped from his grasp. Where his bobber once was is a dark, bulging shape.

“Oh! That’s a big one!” Snorkmaiden remarks.

Snufkin tries to reel it in, but the fish’s pull is too strong. “Give me a hand!”

She wraps her arms around his waist and pulls him back. Snufkin draws the reel back with all his might, and after a fierce tug-of-war, the fish comes flying out of the river. The two fall backwards, dazed from the sudden activity.

Snufkin looks over his newfound prize, thankful he doesn’t have to rework his dinner plans. Suddenly, his stomach drops. “What is _this?_ ”

 _This_ just so happens to be a plank of rotted wood, smothered over with half-hardened tar that smells even more decayed.

“Ew!” Snorkmaiden covers her snout with a deft paw. “What’s something like that doing in the river?”

Suspicion crawls up the back of Snufkin’s neck, a mystery now on his hands. His eyes scan keenly against the river’s tide, following the path the trash once took. To his horror, he spots a pack of similarly-murky objects floating their way.

“Something’s wrong.” He tosses the wood aside and creeps up the riverbank. Snorkmaiden follows close behind him. They pass cluster after cluster of garbage, the water stained a sickly brown color as a result, until a loud whistling stops them in their tracks. Snufkin ducks behind an overgrown bush, pulling Snorkmaiden with him. Together, they peek out slowly and observe the scene.

A burly, hemulen-esc figure is in the middle of pulling their fishing net back to the shore of his dam. The dam they have ever so crudely constructed from the same tarry barrier that had ended Snufkin’s fishing trip. Without an ounce of concern, the figure retrieves a bounty of fish and dunks them into a barrel. They toss the now empty net aside, hoist the barrel over their shoulder, and retreats to a nearby cabin just a yard away. Never once to they stop whistling.

Snufkin’s blood boils. If the water weren’t contaminated, he would toss himself in to cool himself off. Because if his anger manifests into something worse, he will surely implode.

“They’re killing all the fish.”

“How awful!” Snorkmaiden gasps. “Who on earth would use _tar_ to build a dam?”

His hands clench into shaking fists. “A villian. That’s who.”

  


The fireflies are out dancing that night, as bright and resplendent as always. Though they are nowhere as close to as beautiful as the troll holding Snufkin’s hand.

“Look how many there are!” Moomin whispers in awe. His joy is so genuine it makes Snufkin forget about his lingering bitterness. His fiance smiles lovingly over him. “You look amazing….mind if I ask why you’ve been carrying that harpoon all this way?”

“You’ll see,” Snufkin assures him. “I thought we’d do something different for date night tonight.”

Moomin seems conflicted over whether he should be excited or nervous. “Okay…? Is everything alright?”

“It will be. We’re almost there.” He grins wickedly. “This will be fun.”

They approach the makeshift dam, the cover of darkness shielding them from the glowing cabin a ways away. Snufkin hoots once like a barn owl, twice like a sparrow, and receives three robin’s calls as a response. The coast clear, he pulls Moomin into a secluded patch of oak trees. Waiting for them, perched smugly on top of a gnarled root, is Little My.

“Took you two long enough. Distract yourselves by making out?”

Moomin squeaks, covering his face in his hands. Snufkin isn’t in the proper mindset to be bothered by her. “You brought the rest?”

Little My holds up a stuffed box of matches and gives it a shake. “You’ll find the rocks closer to the bank, along with the rope.”

“Excellent.” Snufkin rubs his hands together, suddenly giddy. “This is going to go swimmingly.” The half-siblings snort in unison.

“Huh, Snufkin?” Moomin pipes up, voice higher-pitched than usual, “What the heck is going on?”

Snufkin waves his fiance over to a clearing in the woods, He points at the cabin, then lets his finger trail down towards the dam. “See that? That dam’s made of tar. It’s killing all the fish coming through. The shoals on the other side don’t have much time before they meet the same fate, meaning we have to work quickly.”

“What do you mean...work _quickly?_ ”

“We’re going to destroy the dam.”

“ _What-?!_ ” Snufkin slams his hands over Moomin’s mouth before the extent of his shriek can carry through the woods. He peels his hands away once Moomin fully absorbs the shock. “You can’t just do that! You’re going to get arrested! Just go tell the police!”

“There’s not enough time!” Snufkin protests. “Those fish are in danger, and by the time the authorities take it down on their own it’ll be too late. We’re the only ones who can save them.”

Moomin’s eyes are beady with panic. “How are you two even going to do it? I-It’s too risky to take it all down by yourselves!”

Snufkin’s gaze darts down to his feet, heart sinking. “I was hoping...it’d be the three of us.”

“Yeah, Sniff was too much of a coward and backed out,” Little My adds. “And _Snorkmaiden_ didn’t want to her her fur sticky.”

Moomin pinches the space between his eyes, grimacing. “I don’t want you getting arrested. I don’t want _any_ of us getting arrested! A prison cell is no place to get married.”

“I’ve planned it all out,” Snufkin explains, though with much less enthusiasm than he had when explaining it to Little My earlier. “The villain has a fishing net we can use to catch the debris. Once Little My shoots the harpoon through the weak point I spotted and brings it down, we’ll gather it all up and burn it somewhere far, far away. That way there will be no evidence.”

“Besides a raging bonfire.” Moomin groans. “I didn’t think that’s what you meant when you said you wanted to start one on-! The...beach…”

Snufkin fiddles with his thumbs, spirits soiled. It had been too much to ask and he knows it. But the chance to share such an exhilarating memory with Moomin was too good to pass up. He hasn’t noticed Moomin has trailed off until the troll lets out a heavy sigh.

“Okay. I’ll do it. But it _better_ be quick, and we _better_ not get caught.”

Snufkin perks right back up, grinning wide. “Oh, thank you. Thank you, Moomintroll!” He sneaks a kiss on Moomin’s cheek.

“Yeah, yeah,” Moomin rolls his eyes. “Let’s get to it.”

 

The plan goes off without a hitch to start. Stealing the fishing net is child’s play, since it’s been left outside to dry through the night. With three pairs of nimble fingers, they tie Little My’s rocks to the corners to make sure it sinks all the way to the bottom of the river. Moomin is handed one end, and after stripping down to his lighter undergarments Snufkin swims with his end over to the other side of the river.

The harpoon is the same size as Little My, but the mymble has no trouble sprinting down alongside the riverbank and lining up her shot. She cries out like a bluejay two times, signaling she’s ready.

Snufkin takes the time to call out to Moomin in a hushed whisper. “It’s going to be fine.”

Moomin frowns anxiously. “If you say so.”

Snufkin caws back like an eagle, and Little My fires the harpoon.

The massive, silver hook glides effortlessly through the dam, catching itself firmly on the other side. Little My pulls back with all the strength she can muster, but with the sorry state of the dam it doesn’t take much for it to crumble. Snufkin hoists his end of the net up and Moomin follows suit. The debris comes in fast chunks, pushing heavily against the net but not enough to be of concern.

The rushing water is loud enough to mask Snufkin’s triumphant laugh. “Haha! Oh, how the mighty fall!”

Then without warning the tide speeds up. Snufkin’s smile vanishes as there’s a violent tug on the net. More and more debris is catching, and too late does he realize that there’s more than the net was built to handle. He pulls back against the natural laws of gravity and loses spectacularly. The net slips from his grasp and he is sent sprawling to the ground.

Moomin is even less fortunate. The net goes sinking into the river, carried under faster than Snufkin can blink. Moomin cries out in terror before being dragged under with it.

A blood-chilling scream bursts out of Snufkin’s lungs. “ _MOOMINTROLL!_ ”

The current has the wrath of a fully-grown dragon. Unbridled with a vengeful power that destroys all in its path. Snufkin dives into it without a moment of hesitation.

Little My’s frantic voice is muffled by the rushing of the water in his ears. With the tar now free to disperse across the entirely of the stream, it’s impossible to see what’s floating ahead of him. Nevertheless, Snufkin swims forward, keeping his eyes open in the slim hopes he can catch up to Moomin.

A piece of driftwood catches along his calf, slicing a searing line up to the backside of his knee. He gasps out of instinct, half of his air escaping to the surface. Lungs aching, leg throbbing, he keeps swimming.

The tide naturally throws him up to open air. He sucks in a huge lungful and is thrown back under not a moment later. His survival instincts are kicked into full gear, his limbs like steel propellers despite his fading stamina. He’s thrown back to the surface and sees something white floating not that far in front of him.

“MOOMI-”

Back under he goes. A powerful fear grips Snufkin by the throat. He swims as hard as he possibly can, crazed with dismay and the horror of what will happen if he’s not quick enough. His hand brushes against a lifeless paw, and before it disappears he latches onto Moomin’s wrist with a death grip.

They need something to stop them, something to pull themselves out of the water. Snufkin throws his free arm out at his side, praying to whatever god will listen he’ll latch onto something.

Evidently, someone is listening. Perhaps the hobgoblin. A lonely boulder, one Snufkin vaguely remembers passing on the way to the dam slams into his arm. There’s a terrible burst of pain in his forearm, but he pushes past it and hoists them above the surface.

Little My is screaming, but there’s too much water in Snufkin’s ears to make out what she’s saying. He drags Moomin three-quarters of the way onto the rock, hopeful he’ll be able to get a few good lungfuls of air back in.

Moomin isn’t moving.

Snufkin’s arms are trembling wildly. He won’t last much longer, and they’ll both go sprawling back into the deadly waters.

“M-Moomin...please! Please, love! _Wake up!_ ”

Moomin does not wake up.

Weak, beaten, and certain the worst thing imaginable has occurred, Snufkin’s body gives out and the water consumes them both.

 

The phantom of the tide is still pulling at Snufkin’s body when he wakes. Every one of his muscles has turned to led, his limbs awfully sore. He tries to sit up and take in his surroundings, wanting to double-check to see if he’s in his world or some place beyond it. He lasts only a handful of seconds before his left arm explodes with agony and he lays back down with a _thump_.

“ _Goodness!_ He’s awake already!”

Mrs. Fillyjonk’s voice would normally be the last voice Snufkin would ever want to hear. Now, however, it is the voice of an angel. “Moomin...where’s Moomin?”

“Stay down boy or you’ll break another bone!” A much deeper voice commands him to stillness. Moominpapa. Hot shame fills Snufkin’s insides. “Go fetch another wrapping of gauze. He’s torn his loose!”

Snufkin blinks the last of the bleariness from his eyes. He finds Moominpapa’s scowling face not an inch away form his. “I’m sorry...I’m so, _so sorry_ …”

Moominpapa’s face blurs in his tears. The dapper troll exhales deeply, patting Snufkin’s shoulder gently. “I’d be cross something awful with you if you hadn’t saved my son’s life. What on earth were you kids _doing_ out there?!”

Snufkin’s heart catches in his throat. “He’s _alive?_ ”

Another sigh. This one is much softer. “Touch and go, I’m afraid...but with a greater chance of pulling through than we previously thought. The polluter whose dam you collapsed pulled you two out of the water when he heard Little My calling for help. You’re lucky they didn’t turn tail and run; they’re behind bars now when they could’ve gotten away scott free.”

Poor Little My. She’s never so once even slightly look startled by anything in her life. It’s going to take quite the apology to make amends with her now. “Moomin was right...I shouldn’t have taken things i-into my own hands. I was just s-so _angry_ ...Oh, I can’t-...I can’t _lose_ him. Let it be me. Oh let it be me!”

Moominpapa shushes him, gripping his shoulder firmly. “None of that talk now. It won’t help Moomin get any better. The best thing you can do for him now is rest yourself. You’re banged up just as bad as he is.”

Snufkin’s body racks out a silent sob. He’s far too regretful to give into his hysterics, and he has no right to. With not much energy to begin with, he cries himself into a heavy sleep.


	8. Tethers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yall I don't wanna jinx myself but I think I ROCKED that AP lang exam. English is like the one (1) thing I get and I'm pretty sure I passed. Plus the memes this year are top-notch. Quality content
> 
> Sorry for the wait after that horrible cliffhanger last time! I was in overdrive getting all my work done before my exam. But it's DONE and I'm FREEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!! Thank you all for your patience <3

Moominmama’s potions work wonders at numbing the soreness of Snufkin’s bones. He thinks they may have worked too well. The deadness inside himself has yet to stop spreading.

A day has passed. Or at least it feels so. Snufkin hasn’t had many visitors during his short bursts of consciousness. What energy he has is directly towards heavy periods of slumber. There isn’t an ailment in the world that can’t be cured by a good rest, but Snufkin knows he’s going to need much more than that.

His left arm is completely shattered, swollen like a plump grape and purple like one too. It can’t be put into a proper cast until it shrinks down. All that can be done until then is to lay still and enjoy the sparse breaks in between the intense throbbing.

Arguably, his leg is even worse for wear. The cut running up his calf is showing early signs of infection. An odorous ointment has been smoothed over it as a preventative, but the only good it seems to be doing is singeing Snufkin’s nostrils.

The greatest pain comes not from his physical incapacities, but from the crumpled petals in his hair, his bare ring finger, and the unrelenting presence of guilt within the room. He’s heard no word of Moomin’s condition, only that his fiance has barely survived a brush with death. A collision that was only avoided because Snufkin, the one who put him in harm’s way, had enough sense to jump into a raging river after him.

Grief, like the waters still screaming in his ears, will not leave him. He grieves for Moomin and the heartbreak he’s caused his dear friend. He grieves for the Moomin family, to which he nearly took from them their only son. He grieves for a future he could not possibly imagine sharing with Moomin now.

So he lays on his bed, the dead among the living.

 

There’s a drum inside Moomin’s head, pounding incessantly, hounded upon by the inflation of his brain.

He awakens slowly, as if someone were peeling his fatigue away like the stubborn lid of a can. His room is bathed in gray light, gripped by a chill the spring weather does not normally call for.

Naturally curious, Moomin lifts a paw to his pulsing head. Thick bandages, partly dried and crusted over by a substance he already knows the color of, are cradling his broken skull.  He trails the stained tips of his fingers all the way down to the end of his snout, the horrors of last night coming back to him. Panic seizes his heart.

“Snufkin.”

He throws himself out of his bed, and promptly collapses on the floor. The rest of his body reveals no other horrific injuries to be concerned with, but conceals the rotten stiffness of his bones. Dragging himself back to his feet proves quickly to be difficult, but being the stubborn troll he is, Moomin manages.

No one seems to know he’s risen. Moomin decides he wants to keep it that way, to prevent anyone from shuffling him back to bed. There are more important matters at stake than his old knocker.

A lack of souls around also presents a lack of knowledge. Moomin may not know which room Snufkin has to be- _ is _ holed up in, but he finds he doesn’t need to. He just knows, somehow, that his beloved is nearby, resting in a bed of his own, and needing him desperately.

The guest bedroom beckens him with a siren’s song, and as the hapless sailor Moomin approaches. His shadow creeps into the room first, surveying the scene. Suspicions neither confirmed nor denied by the silence, Moomin eases the door open.

His sixth sense rang true.

Snufkin is laid out on a bed of darkness by the shadows of the room. His left arm and leg are propped up on dense pillows, each sporting their own kind of sickly color. The marvelous braid his hair was once in is now a homely garden, rivaled with muck and tar from the river. His garments have been replaced by an indistinct cream gown, one he will surely not be taken out of for a while.

As he enters, Snufkin’s bloodshot gaze stares him down. Wide red rims surround his eyes as culpable glasses. Moomin desires to pluck them from his face.

“Y-You...you fool,” Moomin smiles tearfully.

Snufkin matches his relief, but to a much different effect. His chest rises laboriously, as if a heavy boulder sat atop of it. “ _ Moomintroll? _ ”

His voice is so fragile, like the last icicle to melt on the first spring day. Moomin limps to his side, automatically going to take Snufkin’s hand. He grips it tightly, though Snufkin does not do the same. “I knew it was you. W-When I woke up...a-and I remembered what happened, I knew-I  _ knew _ you were the one who saved me. You shouldn’t have done such a thing! Look at you!”

The power of a thousand suns can in no way compare to the emotion on Snufkin’s face. “You’re okay...”

“Wh-Of  _ course _ I am!” Moomin pats their entwined hands with his free one. “All thanks to  _ you! _ Oh goodness, Snuf,  _ you- _ ” He chokes suddenly on nothing. “You could’ve died….Oh Snuf,  _ look _ at you…”

Snufkin’s wide eyes well up with tears. “I’m a fool. A damned,  _ damned _ fool…”

Moomin tenses suddenly. A profound fear courses through him. Snufkin never swears. Snufkin  _ never _ swears.

“No no no! No, Snufkin! You are no more a fool than I am!” he rushes out. “I-It wasn’t your fault. I lost my footing. That’s all!”

Snufkin refuses to blink. He says nothing, only dismissing Moomin’s words with a shake of his head. Moomin squeezes his hand tight enough to break it, shaking so intensely he may fall over and faint.

“Listen to me.” Moomin has never excelled at tough love, but desperate times call for desperate measures. “I know what you’re thinking. It doesn’t matter. We’re still here. You and me. And the dam is gone. Yes, it was dangerous,  _ Yes _ , we should’ve gone to the police. But there’s nothing to be done about it now.”

Finally, with eyelids of stone, Snufkin blinks. Tears flow down his face faster than the river that swallowed them whole. Still, there is silence.

No other words of persuasion come to mind, though it’s a miracle Moomin’s was able to come up with any to begin with. He watches Snufkin break down piece by piece, the stubbornness of his terrible assumption fighting for control of his will.

“Oh, my sweet dove,” Moomin whispers, “Please, for our sake, let it go. There’s nothing to be forgiven for if no wrong has been done. It was all an accident. A terrible, terrible accident. And it’s over now. You’re going to recover, as will I, and we’ll marry in the glorious future.  _ Our _ future.”

He adds in that last bit at the end for further emphasis. Theirs. Them. Moomin and Snufkin. Forever and always.

Never once, for even a moment, should Snufkin ever doubt that. He has before, twice now since they’ve been together. But Moomin will keep reminding him, as many times as it takes, that they will never be apart. They never have before.

Moomin leans his head against Snufkin’s chest. Partially to provide comfort, mainly because it’s far too heavy to hold up on his own. “Stay with me, dear. You always have come back to me. Just do so one more time…”

Snufkin still does not speak, but his body does for him. Moomin’s head bobs with every sob that rips out of his chest, ears switching from every cry that escapes betwixt his lips. The troll loosens his hold on the mumrik’s hand, no longer needing to tether him as he was before.

They lay there for hours, until Moominmama discovers Moomin is no longer in his room and goes into a tizzy. But upon finding the couple asleep in Snufkin’s room, she expertly maneuvers them to share the bed without irritating any of their injuries.

So they stay, together, once again living.


	9. Adventures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moomin returns a favor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response to the last chapter blew me away! YALL ARE SO SWEET AND GOT ME TEARING UP AT SCHOOL WHAT THE HECK <3333333333333

Little My won’t speak to him.

It’s what Snufkin deserves, but it doesn’t make it any less painful.

Weeks have passed. Moomin is back to pitch-perfect health, besides the occasional headache then and there. Seeing the troll wander freely without a wobble to his steps puts Snufkin at ease, despite the increasing worry of his own injuries.

The swelling of his arm has finally gone down. While the plaster mold around it can be irritating, it is unparalleled to the achiness he experienced before. Moomin, Sniff, and Snorkmaiden have also all contributed their signatures to it, as well as a handful of silly doodles. They manage to paint a rare smile on his face when the artists are not there in person.

His leg is a whole other matter.

Snufkin has gotten nasty cuts before; one cannot live in the wild without the occasion brush of a sharp twig. Every time before, he’s managed to clean out the wound and be good as new in no more than a week or so. But it’s been nearly a month now, with summer on the very near horizon, and his leg has only gotten worse.

(I’ll spare you the nitty, gritty details. Rest assured, his leg is no pretty sight.)

Concern has spread across the valley. It seems every living creature is in the belief they know what’s best to do about it. Moominmama wants to experiment with more potions. Mr. Hemulen had jumped straight to amputation.

Imagine, Snufkin, with only one leg to stand on, and the fickleness of his heart to belong to only one part of the globe.

No, amputation is not an option. A Snufkin can be a Snufkin without the freedom of movement, but the change will take time. Lots of time. Time Snufkin would rather be using in other ways. But to dash the option altogether means encountering a fate far, far worse.

Snufkin won’t even consider it. He could never put Moomin through such a thing. If the leg has to go, then so be it.

The choice doesn’t make him any less scared.

 

It’s late, later than any troll should be up and about. Yet Moomin is still at Snufkin’s bedside, kneading the tangles out of his hair with deft hands. His touch is as light as a feather, cracking Snufkin’s worries open like an Easter egg.

“I’m scared.”

Moomin’s hands freeze. His face is unreadable, but his eyes are not. “You’re going to be alright, dove. Mama will figure out what to do. She always does…”

Snufkin closes his eyes, not willing to pretending for even a moment he could believe such a lie. “It has to go. I’m not getting any better.”

“You don’t know that,” Moomin argues.

But he does know. The puss leaking from the cut is telling him so. Surely Moomin’s foolishness hasn’t stopped him from smelling it.

“T-There’s a place...on the southern shores,” he starts, in a voice weaker than that of a frayed string, “A little cliff that looks down over the ocean...there’s this patch of violets that blossoms on top every year...they have the _sweetest_ smell…”

Moomin gaze has gone hazy. Stress has taken hold of his features, making him appear centuries older. “You’ll get to smell them again this winter. I...I promise.”

It’s the only promise Moomin has ever made him that Snufkin knows he’ll have to break. There’s enough heartbreak in the room already, so to prevent Moomin’s from shattering further he goes right to sleep.

 

Everyone is already gathered around the kitchen table when Moomin comes downstairs. They’re hunched over their seats, uttering in hushed tones, when Moomin slams his paws down with a mighty _thwack!_

“There has to be _someway_ to heal him!”

His voice booms, not having to compete with much volume to begin with. His parents and Too-Ticky stare at him with bewilderment.

“Oh dear, please don’t exhaust yourself,” Moominmama cautions tiredly. “It’s late and you still need rest-”

“I’m _fine_ mama, but Snufkin is not. I can’t keep sitting around and waiting for something to happen while he’s- _he’s_...Mama, please. What can we do?”

Moominmama circles the table, stopping when she’s in reach of Moomin. She puts a tender hand on his back, patting him gently. “I’ve tried every recipe in grandma’s book...I don’t believe she has the answers for us this time.”

Moomin’s heart sinks. “Okay...then how about modern medicine? Snufkin told me there’s newer treatments being performed down south. They haven’t spread to the valley yet, but I’m sure they would work!”

The table group looks at one another nervously. There’s something on all their minds they have yet to relay to Moomin. Finally, it is Moominpapa who confesses first.

“Son-” He stops immediately with a heavy sigh. “It’s not that we _don’t_ believe the medicine will work, but...Snufkin doesn’t have the time for us to make that journey south. Right now, there’s not much else we can do but...well, you’re a smart boy. Surely you know.”

He is smart enough to know, but that won’t stop him from finding another way. A better way.

“Snufkin needs to g-go _south_ ... _this winter_ ...and he needs both his legs to do it.” Moomin pauses to swallow back the lump in his throat. “There has got to be _some way_...there has to be-”

His desperation overwhelms him. He falls silent, lips pressed tightly together. He feels the tears coming on and shuts his eyes to stop them.

Someone exhales uneasily. “D’are...might be ah way. Ah way dat doesn’t require goin’ south.”

Moomin’s eyes fly open, latching right onto Too-Ticky. “ _Please_.”

The blonde glances fretfully at the tablecloth bunched under their fingers. “D’ares an old, ancient legend-Moominma, pa, you may know it...of ah magic’ul healin’ orchard up ne’ah the Lonely Mountians. D’are grows bunches ah’n bunches o’r fr’oots. Any kin’ y’e can imagine. But any dat are plucked turn rotten if not blessed by da Orchard Nymph.”

Moomin shuffles quickly to her side, eager for more in-depth details. “How do you get a blessing?!”

Too-Ticky eyes him sadly, picturing the outcome of her answer. But she gives in anyway. “D’ares a test sh’ay puts y’e through...one no one can prepare for. If y’e fail...she turns y’e into one of her fr’oots. I don’t know a single person whose e’er passed.”

A high risk, high reward scenario, with the promised fantasy element thrown into it. With all the typical magic nonsense that’s already occurs in the valley, and Moomin’s heightened emotional state, he feels no immediate reason for concern.

“So that’s why you didn’t mention it earlier...will you take me there?”

His parents are quick to protest.

“Oh no, dear! It’s much too risky!”

“You’re in no condition to go out on that kind of a journey, son!”

Moomin promptly ignores them. “Mom, dad, I know you’re worried...but I have to do this.”

“No you don-”

“Snufkin saved _me_ ,” Moomin cuts off his father sharply, “and now I have to save _him_. Whatever the cost. But I won’t just stand by and let him fall apart. Give me one more day.”

“He may not _have_ another day.”

“Then give me till sundown.”

 

Too-Ticky agrees, though dishearteningly, to take Moomin to the orchard. She decides its best to leave as soon as possible, and runs off to collect her needed belongings.

Moomin spends his last hour packing his own things, reassuring his parents, and watching Snufkin sleep. There’s a mask of discomfort plastered over his fiance’s face, and Moomin hopes that by his deadline it will be long gone.

He hears the door open downstairs, signaling his time is up. Snufkin must have cast some spell on Moomin, because as he tries to leave he finds it impossible to. But Moomin breaks the spell, leaving the love of his life with one last parting kiss to his forehead.

“Sleep tight, dove. The next time I hold you, you’ll have two feet to stand on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: 2 gays go on a quest


	10. Needs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moomin takes a test.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry if I offended anyone last chapter. I never meant to imply Snufkin losing his leg would be the end of the world for him; it would just be a massive shock and force him to give up traveling alone in the winter. It was never supposed to be anything mean against disabled people. I'm so so sorry if I made any of you feel that way.

Just their luck, the weather takes a turn for the worse.

Thunder rumbles across the sky, shaking the very ground beneath their feet. Stray droplets of rain pelt against their backsides, turning their path along the Lonely Mountains muddy and unpleasant. Lightning strikes from the east, as if they don’t hurry it’ll strike over top of them.

Moomin clings to his damp backpack straps, bracing himself against the harsh wind. “HOW MUCH FURTHER?” he hollers up to Too-Ticky.

“JUST UP D’IS HILL!” she hollers back. Her blonde hair is glued to her face by the moisture in the hair. Her blue hat sits skewed atop her head. Moomin owes her big time for all this. A stack of pancakes isn’t going to cut it, that’s for sure.

The trudge on up the hill. Right as they reach the peak, a nasty gust of wind, rain, and leaves slams them against the mountain side. Moomin stumbles, Too-Ticky grabbing him before he can fall right off the cliff’s edge. He stares down the deadly abyss and loses spectacularly. It feels as if all his insides have been drained from his body.

“ALMOST D’ARE!” she promises. “HOLD ON T’EH ME HAND!”

Their palms are slick from rain and sweat, but Moomin’s steel grip will not falter. Together, they shuffle up the remaining stretch of land left between them and the ominous cave at the end of it. A curtain of thick, curly vines stops them from entering and finding needed cover.

Too-Ticky reaches behind into her pack, unsheathing a fishing knife. “D’IS MAY TAKE A SEC!”

She goes straight to carving. The vines are harder than dried molasses, and dense like it too. Her knife is barely making any headway, far too small for the job it’s been tasked with.

There’s a god-like flash, so bright the whole world fades into it. Once it dims follows a mortifying  _ BOOM _ , followed by an even worse  _ CRACK! _

They dare a glance upwards, just as a gigantic chunk of rock breaks away from the mountaintop.

It’s falling their way.

“OI, FORGET IT!” Too-Ticky leaps into the vines, pulling Moomin with her with the strength of ten oxes. Miraculously, they fall through and aren’t pushed back to their doom.

There’s an immediate difference between the cave and the world outside. The rise in the temperature is reminiscent of a warm day on the beach. Instead of a rocky, cavern floor there’s soft, plush grass, greener than a Granny Smith apple.

From outside, there’s a sickening  _ smack _ . Moomin and Too-Ticky turn to one another, both pale in the face.

“Dat was a close one.”

They rise on wobbly knees, but are quickly stilled by the beauty before them.

An orchard of as high esteem as the fantasy entails spans before them. Trees and plants of all shapes, sizes, and colors blossom freely, thriving on the mysterious golden light floating along the cave’s ceiling. A perfectly sweet scent, not too sweet or too faint, hangs in the air, welcoming them further inside. It’s a sight straight out of a fairy tale, and its whimsy is contagious.

Moomin gasps, utterly mesmerized. He walks forward, stuck in a trace, before Too-Ticky pulls him back.

“Sh’ey could be anywhere. Remember Moomin, pick only what you need to. C’ahn’t afford to b’eh greedy hear.”

She lets him go, and off Moomin wanders. It’s not until he’s in the heart of the orchard does he realize Too-Ticky hasn’t followed him. He tries not to let it get to him too much. There’s no time to be scared.

All around him are fruits so ripe they’re practically sparkling. Grape vines curl delicately around their stalks, pumpkins line the path like jeweled stones, and bananas hang down from their branches desperate to be picked.

What does Moomin need? There isn’t a fruit in sight that doesn’t look appealing. Some can literally be peeled after all! It’s a surprisingly stressful situation given he’s so worked up over fruit.

He walks around a little more, careful not to step on any of the wild strawberries growing from the cavern floor. That’s when he spots it.

An apple, redder than Mama’s apron and rounder than the sun. It shimmers under the light, as if it were a star in the sky. Moomin has never seen a fruit so perfect.

It must be it it. It must be, positioned as it is right at the edge of a dipping branch. Moomin approaches cautiously. The skin is so shiny he can see each bristle of fur in his reflection. Carefully, he holds his hands up, palms almost touching the bottom curve.

A voice wafts into his head. It’s soft at first, just a whistle in the wind. Then it grows stronger, twisting his gut into fine little knots.

_ Not that one, love. _

Moomin yanks his hands away as if he were burned. Not that one. Not the apple.

Then what is he looking for?

Moomin steps far away from the apple. He won’t be tempted so easily again. The deceit is starting to become more noticeable now, the perfections of each fruit too good to be true. No doubt this is why so many failed; the most obvious choice was the wrong one all along.

Thank goodness for the voice in his head. Oddly enough, Moomin could have sworn it sounded like-

A dot of purple pops up in the corner of his eye. Moomin turns, heart stopping.

Their idly sewn among the orchard, behind the tightest bunches of crops. They’ve been hidden from sight by the rest of the foliage, yet here they grow regardless. Moomin kneels slowly beside one, too afraid to breathe.

The violet bows from his movements, saying hello.

Moomin gives it a long, deep sniff. It’s as sweet as Snufkin said.

He wraps a shaking paw around the flower’s stem. The voice is gone, but Moomin tells Snufkin his vows in case he’s wrong.

He picks the violet.

Light encapsulates the room. There’s no thunder like the lightning strike, but the pounding of Moomin’s heart makes up for the silence. The fruits vanish. Too-Ticky with them. It’s just Moomin, alone in the void.

Suddenly, the light shifts. From it emerges a figure. They grow to god-like size, towering over the troll like the Moomin house would over a field mouse. Long, spindly hair like wheat spans out from passed their shoulders. Translucent skin turns to olive, a woven tunic covering a great half of their torso.

Just as Moomin looks up into their eyes, a wreath of ferns weaves itself across their forehead.

He clutches the violet close to his chest.

“So...this is the plant you’ve chosen to steal from my orchard.”

There’s no right way to describe The Nymph’s voice. It’s a mixture of every different tone at every different octave, all coming together to form a surprisingly harmonious symphony. Sort of like the elements of a perfect fruit salad.

“I-I’m sorry,” Moomin’s squeaks out. It’s impossible to mask his trembling, so he doesn’t even try. “But I n-need your blessing, your...your greatness.”

The Nymph cocks their head, the name weighing unsurely on their mind. “And you just expect me to give it to you? There’s a season I chose this place to let my orchard flourish. Creatures like you always wander in here and muck it all up.”

Moomin gulps. “I...I was told...y-you would only give me your blessing i-if I went through a test…?”

The Nymph rolls their eyes. “You’ve already passed it. But now it’s a matter if I’ll still give you a blessing at all. Just because you passed doesn’t mean I’ll give it to you. What I want to know is what you want.”

“What I want?”

The Nymph nods impatiently. Evidently, they get more trespassers than they would like.

Moomin glances down at the violet. It’s still maintained its beauty despite being severed from its source of life. It may be just a flower, but it’s The Nymphs flower. Such a prized flower will surely be missed. Not to mention the orchard seems to be their only form of company.

There’s no other explanation Moomin can give than the truth.

“What I want isn’t important. M-My fiance...he’s really sick, and he loves to travel the globe. He...he gets this sparkle in his eye, telling me of his adventures, the sights he’s seen...And t-there’s this cliff he likes in particular, with violets like this one...He needs to see them again. Please.”

The Nymph stares at him with an expression Moomin can’t quite read. It takes him a moment to realize this resplendent figure is looking upon him in awe. “I never thought I’d find another person like you who is selfless enough to pass.”

A premature tremor passes through Moomin. “Huh?”

“What I said before about the test was a lie. Well, partially true. There are two tests really. When the people of the valley used to be more noisy, I would tell them there were two. But as time went on, I grew less forgiving...what’s your fiance’s name?”

“Snufkin.”

“And yours, child?”

“M-Moomin.”

The Nymph smiles. It is just as warm as the orchard’s air. “Moomin, I give you my blessing. Take what you need and live a long, merry life together.”

The light vanishes with a  _ snap _ .

It takes several moments for Moomin’s eyes to adjust. He would rub his eyes and speed up the process, but their busy cradling something very-not violet-shaped.

Moomin looks down at his blessed token. He’s frozen with shock. What he’s holding isn’t a healing potion, or even modern medicine from the south.

What he’s holding is a prosthetic leg of rosewood. Fine, delicate violets have been carved along the grain, trailing along a similar path to Snufkin’s terrible cut.

“No. No, this isn’t...TOO-TICKY!”

He races back to the cave’s entrance, panicked tears pricking his eyes. Too-Ticky has sat herself at the foot of the vines, chin in her hands. There’s a solemn look on her face, one that doesn’t mesh well with Moomin’s mounding confusion.

“Too-Ticky! They gave me-! This isn’t what I wanted!”

“But it’s what you needed,” she reminds him sadly. Not drawing out his confusion any longer, she pulls back the curtain to the outside world. Blocking their path, barely covering up the sun’s descent to the west, is the chunk of the mountain that had nearly taken their lives.

Moomin falls to his knees. “Oh  _ Snufkin _ …”

He watches the night sky roll in through his shameful tears.


	11. Turning Points

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Changes are had. Limits are met.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh sorry for the wait again buds! It was prom/baccalaureate weekend, and after being fancy for so long I had to take a short mental breather.
> 
> I also wanted to do more research on how to properly write physically disabled characters before continuing the story any further. A super huge shoutout and thank you to nan for allowing me to interview them and for beta-omg this chapter. You’re so kind and your advice had been really helpful!
> 
> Of course I’m still capable of mistakes. If there’s ever anything in this fic that makes any of you uncomfortable, please never be afraid to speak up. That way I can learn from my mistakes and make this fic more enjoyable to read

The air is thick with the smell of wet earth, of soiled roots and and moist decay. Broken storms and broken hearts.

Pale daisy light escapes through the holey cover of clouds, faint swabs of evening sky illuminated behind them. All is quiet across the valley, save for Moomin and Too-Ticky’s feet sloshing through the breadcrumb of puddles leading them home.

Moomin trudges blindly, fur mud-stained and eyes weighted, He can’t seem to lift his gaze from Snufkin’s prosthetic leg. It’s a prize he feels no triumph from winning. Just a deep, profound sorrow.

“This is all my fault.”

Immediately, Too-Ticky stomps on his tail. With a yelp, Moomin falls backwards into a puddle three-fourths his width. He raises the leg above his head to keep it from getting wet.

“Why did y-?!”

“Was it y’e fault da storm happen’d?” Too-Ticky questions him.

“Wh-no.”

“An’ was it y’e fault dat bould’ar came fly’ain out of da sky?!”

“No! But-!”

“An’ was Snufkin gettin’ sick y’e fault in da first place, ei’der?”

Moomin looks down. “No…”

Too-Ticky sighs, the tension from her face dripping away. “Then none of dis is y’e fault, Moomin. C’mon.”

She holds out her hand. Moomin stares at it longingly, then he takes it.

Too-Ticky hoists him back to his feet, water rolling off his bottom-side like pebbles down an incline. “We’re almost dar...D’ings may be differ’nt now, but y’e rememb’r what da Nymph said.”

A beat of silence. Moomin realizes she wants him to say the words aloud. “It’s what I needed...What Snufkin needed”

Too-Ticky nods. ‘Dis isn’t an endin’; it’s a beginnin’.”

 

The night has been cast yet again by the time they finally make it back to Moomin house.

Moominmama is waiting on the porch when they arrive, fretful in a way only a worried parent could be. She sweeps Moomin up into a massive hug before realizing what her son has brought with him. The bags under her eyes grow darker.

“Oh darling...I’ll polish it up for him. Perhaps Papa can check if all the joints are in working order.”

There’s a stiffness to the house Moomin can never remember feeling there in all his life. It sucks up all the comfort he has ever felt inside the rounded walls and taints it. All his memories have soured, his mood dampened. It won’t last forever, but when one is under immense heartache it seems as if it will.

Too-Ticky follows Moomin upstairs, her shoulders slumped from the fatigue she can no longer hide. It had taken a lot of time and effort to climb around the boulder trapping them in the orchard. As stressful as this whole ordeal has been, Moomin’s shocked she’s still standing. The only reason he’s so awake is because he has Snufkin still to tend to.

“You can sleep here if you want,” Moomin offers without hesitation. “I...won’t be using my room for a while.”

Too-Ticky smiles gratefully. “Maybe just f’er tonight. I’ll se y’e in da mornin.’”

“Goodnight, Too-Ticky.”

Moomin closes the door softly behind her. The hallway stretches on for miles. Unlit, it stands as imposing as a haunted dungeon of sorts. The Moominhouse was haunted once; perhaps some unfriendly ghosts have found an ironic time to move themselves in.

The only lit room, of course, is the guest room.

Through the crack in the door, Moomin can see the dying lantern keeping the house alive. The candle inside barely has a wick left to feed, and the fire is suffering for it. Moomin eases the door open, the hinges having enough respect not to creak.

There lays Snufkin, on the bed just as before. Arm bound and propped up, face flushed and clammy. His chest rises and falls at a steady pace, the infection no longer around to leech off his health. And with the infection gone, so is Snufkin’s left calf, as evident by the dip left by his bedsheets.

Snufkin is fast asleep. Moomin suspects he will be for some time. But he’s not the only one accompanied by the candlelight. A small figure is sitting at his bedside, right where Moomin was planning to occupy.

“Little My?”

There’s no response. Moomin steps into the room, footsteps light.

“Are you asleep, Little My?”

She shakes her head slowly. Not asleep, but she soon will be. With great care, Moomin grabs a nearby stool and places it beside her own. He takes a seat, minding her space and not looking her way.

Oh, how Moomin should address her worries. How he should ask her what’s wrong and listen to her response, as tired and worried as he is himself. But being so close to Snufkin, after everything that’s happened the past few days, Moomin just can’t find the strength to do it.

“You can lay down next to him,” Moomin offers.

Little My shrugs. A minute later, though, she takes his offer. Like a wounded animal, she crawls onto the bed and curls up pitifully against Snufkin’s side. She lays her head down on her brother’s chest, her ponytail swaying with every inhale and exhale. Moomin pulls the blankets up so she’s covered up, tucking her in like one would a small child. Little My shuts her eyes, trying so desperately to hide her sleepy tears.

Moomin pretends to fall asleep in his chair, the only way he can give her any sense of privacy. His acting seems convincing, especially when he falls asleep himself.

 

When Snufkin opens his eyes, he knows the world he’ll wake up to won’t be a fantasy.

He’s a grown man. All those naive convictions of dreams becoming realities died the same way his innocence did: with age, time, and cynical wisdom.

So when he opens his eyes, he’s not disappointed to find himself still missing a limb. He’s not shocked it didn’t miraculously grow back overnight. No, this is the real world. Snufkin lives within its reality, and all that occurs cannot be undone. Hobgoblins or not.

What Snufkin is, however, is scared. Frightened. Terrified. Perhaps the best way to put it is uncertain. He has so many questions, most of which can only be answered later. Much, much later. One sits most prevalently in his mind:

What happens now?

Sleeping all day has worn him ragged. His back is stiffer than drywall, and his hips are awfully sore. What would do him some good is a nice walk around the house.

Snufkin gets up to do just that, then stops. 

Right. Walking isn’t a liberty he has anymore.

The trepidation from that hits hard. What he wouldn’t do to calm his nerves from a nice Moomin hug.

And there Moomin is, sleeping right beside him.

Snufkin’s heart sings. A person. Someone to cling to in this trying time. And not just any person.  _ Moomin _ .

He reaches as far as he can, grasping Moomin by the shoulder.

“Moomintroll...Love, please wake up.  _ Please _ .”

The troll is roused gently, but Moomin just about jumps out of his own skin. He’s wide-eyed and mud-stained, looking and smelling as if he just crawled out of a pigsty.

“ _ Snufkin _ .”

The longing in his voice-of truely agonizing want and relief-brings them both crashing down. Moomin holds him like he had been doing it already, for years and years, and Snufkin clings to him the same way. His snout rests perfectly atop Snufkin’s head, his warm breath seeping down from the mumrik’s skull to his toes. Snufkin sinks into his embrace and weeps freely. All his fear spills out at once, and he is helpless to reel the tide back in.

“Oh my love, I’m so  _ sorry _ ,” Moomin whimpers, tears in his words.

Snufkin can’t find a voice to respond with. Just a broken sob. Moomin rubs firm circles into his back, a reminder that he’s not facing any of this alone. But it’s not enough. Snufkin needs more More contact. More Moomin, More reassurance.

He tries to move in closer, but realizes that Little My is in his way. Startled, his immediate reaction is to wake her. He shakes her shoulder with much more force. “Little M-My?”

Little My yawns. She rubs her eyes groggily, staring at him through a mirage of drowsiness. Then she too is snapped back to reality. “Snufkin!”

She absolutely  _ tackles _ him, arms wrapping around his neck like a weighted scarf. Her face buries itself in his shoulder, knees hitting him right below his ribcage. Snufkin doesn’t know how to react at first. Soon, though, he’s bringing his good arm up to hold her back.

She’s trembling. Little My, trembling. Snufkin fears the tremor in her own heart.

“Oh Little My, I-”

She pulls back and punches him in the shoulder. Hard. Well, maybe not that hard. The suddenness of it magnifies the pain.

“Ow! What-?!”

“You idiot! You scared the hell out of me!”

Snufkin gaps, not unlike a fish out of water. He tries to respond, but Little My beats him to it.

“Oh, I don’t care if I’m swearing! You-You-!  _ Argh! _ ”

Little My throws herself under the sheets, burying herself in a cotton cocoon. Snufkin tries to peel the layers back, but she simply pulls the remaining ones tighter around herself. He looks to Moomin, hoping his fiance will offer a solution. Moomin is just as perplexed as him.

“Little My, please come out,” Snufkin asks her. “I’m sorry I scared you...Please, Little My. You need to breathe.”

With a huff, Little My unwraps herself, as if breathing is of some inconvenience to her. Angry tear stains line her red cheeks, her eyes pulsating with fury. “Sorry doesn’t-! It wasn’t-! It...it wasn’t supposed to be this way. It’s  _ never _ this way.”

Snufkin just looks at her. He’s too overwhelmed to piece her words together.

“When we used to mess with the park keeper, like that time with the woodies...No one got hurt.  _ Seriously _ hurt. But you...Snufkin,  _ you _ …”

Little My crosses her arms. Like the lid on a boiling kettle, she tries to contain her anger. Her mounting worries. Never once has she acted like this; never once has she  _ had _ to act like this. Their other petty crimes have ended at worst with a slap on the wrist, never an  _ amputated leg. _

No wonder she hasn’t spoken to him until now. She hadn’t know how to react, let alone what to say.

Grabbing the end of the bed sheet, Snufkin dabs at her fresh tears. Little My scowls, but leans into his touch.

“I’m alright now,” he assures her, his voice brittle. “One lost leg...one lost leg isn’t the end of the world. It’s a change. That’s all.”

His voice grows stronger with every word. Perhaps he’s trying to convince himself of the same thing.

Little My bites her lip. “Sometimes...I don’t really believe I’m older than you. When I’m so small..and still so foolish. I think because I’m so little I allow myself not to grow up. Oh, we’re too old to be doing such silly things, Snufkin! A-And I’m your older sister, so I better start acting like it!”

She pokes a short finger into his chest.

“You’re g-gonna get through this. And I’ll keep pushing you until you do! I know what y-you’re really thinking, Snufkin. That this is the end. That you have to give up vagabonding forever. But you’re an idiot! And I’m the idiot that’s gonna help you not be one anymore!”

She pokes him repeatedly. Snufkin lets her.

“Once the wound heals, y-you’re going to bootcamp. And d-don’t ask Moomintroll to save you ‘cause I’m making him help me! You’re walking again, whether you like it or not!”

She’s heaving now, having worn herself out from all her yelling. Snufkin covers her hand with his own, pushing it against her own chest. Little My looks to him, more scared than she’s ever looked before.

Snufkin smiles warmly. “Give me your worst. I’ll be ready.”

Little My breathes deeply, nodding furiously. “You’re gonna regret saying that.”

“Oh-ho, really now?” he asks slyly. “C’mere, My. It’s alright.”

Their hug this time is much less aggressive. In fact, it may be the first real hug Snufkin and Little My have ever shared. They’ve never been much for traditional signs of affection. How their worlds have changed.

Moomin watches patiently, smiling at them empathetically. Snufkin jerks her head, motioning for his fiance to join them. Moomin doesn’t hesitate.

It’s a giant, warm hug pile, with Snufkin at the mercy of his partners in crime. His apprehension is at an all-time high, and his hopes of visiting the south are almost none.

But at least he’s here, alive, being held by the two most important people in his life.

Yes. At least he is very much alive.


	12. Goals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time is short and expectations are high.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S SUMMER I GOT MY HAT ON BACKWARDS AND IT'S TIME TO FUCKING PARTY *smacks my head into a garage door*
> 
> Now I got more free time to write!!! When I'm not doing the millions of other projects I've given myself over the break...Productivity!
> 
> Also y'all best be checking my wonder beta Nan's tumblr: https://moominvalleyanarchist.tumblr.com/

Summer follows spring, fall follows summer, and winter arrives to round off the year with a cold, icy bow. Moominvalley is entering the early stages of summer, shortening the window of time Snufkin has to recover in order to make his journey south.

There are 365 days in a year. It typically takes six to eight weeks for a broken bone to heal, round about the same time it will take for his leg to as well (or what’s left of it). One month is normally four and a half weeks long. This means in two months it’ll finally be safe to begin physical therapy.

Midsummer will be nearing its end in two months. That leaves only the fall for Snufkin to adjust to life with his prosthetic leg as best he can. But the best he can do might not be inherently safe, or for that matter inherently wise.

“It’s just going to take time, Snufkin,” Snorkmaiden reminds him. She plucks a card from the draw pile and tucks it in her stash, frowning. Clearly it’s not the card she wanted.

Snufkin purses his lips. He does the math one more time, then throws his notepad aside. It lands on the bed with a soft plop, his calculations fluttering in the air with the bound pages. He's not one to account for any span of time, but it's a small change compared to everything else.

“There has to be a way. Surely I’ll have enough time this year.”

“It doesn’t have to be a race, dear,” Moomin reminds him, smiling patiently. His voice is velvety smooth and oh so gentle. He almost has Snufkin convinced, but the mumrik’s stubbornness prevails.

“Yes, but I could do it. I could make the trip. And I want to.”

Sniff shuffles his cards nervously, perched atop Snufkin’s footboard. “Little My’s gonna work you like dog the first chance she gets, but you gotta think about what’s best for you, buddy...any fours?”

Snufkin looks to his cards, set-up carefully on his custom deck holder. It’s half an egg carton Moomin cut up for him, and the slits are perfectly spaced apart. A great, one-handed tool. “Go fish.”

Dejectedly, Sniff adds what must be the thirteenth card to his hand.

Moomin pats Snufkin’s knee, a fretful crease between his brows. “Just listen to your body, okay? You already push yourself hard enough with your stretches. You have to be gentle on yourself. Also, I need your kings.”

Snufkin smirks, tossing his fiance his three paper monarchs. “Don’t worry, I will. As long as you promise not to go off on any more dangerous magical adventures. At least, without me.”

Moomin places his set aside, laughing shyly. “I had Too-Ticky with me. Nothing bad was going to happen.”

“Mmm-hmm. Any nines, love?”

“Unfortunately, no. Go fish.”

Oh, he will. Once he’s fully healed. He’ll go fishing, hiking, jogging, everything. In just a few short months, everything will go back to the way it was.

Surely it will.

 

“C’mon, Snufkin! Just a few steps more! Push on!”

A stunted breath is captured in Snufkin’s lungs. His arms shake like wind-whipped branches, his sweaty grip clinging to the wooden bars keeping him stable. He stares down Little My, fixating on his end goal. Just a few more steps. More like a few more miles.

Determination edges on his stamina, but there’s not much left to muster.

But Snufkin pushes on, his sister cheering fanatically. The ballet bars he’s been using to practice walking are only a handful of meters long. Why is it that they feel so much longer?

He counts to three and takes a step with his right foot. One, two, three, he steps with his prosthetic.

A jolt of pain cuts through his knee, traveling up his calf. Snufkin cries out, stumbling. He wraps his arms around the bar he’s put the most weight on, swinging down like a flailing monkey. His palms lose their traction and he falls to the floor, the third time this day.

Little My sighs, just as frustrated as he is. “Closer. You-You got closer.”

Snufkin rolls over onto his butt, crossing his arms with a huff. Hot, angry tears sting the corners of his eyes. He brushes them away before they become noticeable. “I can do it. Just...give me a minute. Let me catch my breath.”

“Sure. Why not. Maybe you’ll catch so much air you turn into a balloon. Then you won’t need to walk.”

Snufkin glares at her. “I am trying, you know.”

Her gaze drops, features softening. “I do know...I just wish there was more I could do.”

His agitation leaves with hers. “You’re doing plenty,” he assures her. “You can’t control the swelling. Or the achiness. Or the shooting pains.”

“Maybe if I yell a little louder, I can.”

Snufkin can’t help but grin. He’s relieved to see Little My return the expression. “It’s getting better. I know last week I looked pretty rough, but I’m telling you it is.”

Little My hums. “Uh huh. And when you’re put out of commission again…?”

Translation: What happens if Snufkin’s wound swells up again and keeps him bedridden for another week? How many more days can he spare to poor luck?

None by this point. Summer is hours away from ending, it seems. The crisp, autumn air has already gripped the valley. There’s only a couple of months left until winter.

“I’m going south this year,” Snufkin proclaims proudly. “I’ll be ready.”

Little My says nothing. She only nods, brushing imaginary dust off the top of the bars. “Let’s take a break anyway. Mymble will be here soon, and I don’t wanna miss her making a fool of herself in front of Too-Ticky.”

 

There comes a morning early in the fall where Snufkin can’t get himself out of bed.

He rolls over as he always does, since he’s found it’s easier than sitting up in recent cases. As he throws himself sideways, his hips twinge in agony. It takes Snufkin’s breath away, leaving him clutching his lower half with desperate hands.

His bones are stiffer than they’ve ever been. Stiffer than stone, than steel, than anything. What’s left of his left leg feels numb. Uncannily numb.

Snufkin panics, fisting at his sheets like a child after a nightmare.

“Moomintroll? Moomintroll?!”

Moomin is never one to leave Snufkin waiting (despite how the opposite tends to be true). His fiance barrels into the room, tripping over himself before making it to Snufkin’s bedside. “Are you okay? What hurts? What’s wrong?”

“My leg. I-I can’t feel it that well. And my hips hurt.”

“Okay...Okay, don’t worry,” Moomin tells him, despite looking more worried than the other. “Let’s do your stretches real quick. I think your leg just fell asleep. Ready? Lift up!”

Snufkin lifts the calf upwards, a tingly sensation passing through the region. Oh. Perhaps Moomin is right. Still, the slightest discomforts are concerning. If there is one thing Moominvalley has always lacked, it’s a proper medical facility. Most inhabitants rely on Moominmama’s potions, but those can only do so much.

Moomin coaches him through the whole routine, consisting of leg lifts and abbreviated yoga positions. It’s not one a professional physical therapist would recommend, but that just so happens to be another thing the valley is lacking. Conventional or not, it gets the job done and the blood flowing through Snufkin’s body again.

His hips buckle as he stands, but with Moomin to lean onto Snufkin is right as rain. “Sorry if I scared you, dove. I just-”

“Freaked out a bit?”

Snufkin smiles sheepishly. “Something like that.”

Moomin smiles back. “Best to take it easy today anyway. Mymble’s come to visit this morning.”

“Again?”

“She’s missed you.”

“She’s too doting. I’m not dying, despite what she may believe.”

Moomin retrieves his prosthetic from atop a nearby dresser. He motions for Snufkin to balance on his bedframe while the troll slips it on. “She knows you’re not dying. Humor her, love. She’s your older sister after all.”

Snufkin rolls his eyes. “At least Little My is somewhat tolerable.”

Moomin frowns, focusing on the task at hand. “They’re just trying to help. No need to be so sour about it.”

Guilt grips Snufkin’s heart. He sighs sadly. “You’re right. Forgive me. I’m acting rather like Stinky.”

“Oh no, you’re nowhere near as bad as him,” Moomin assures him quickly. They share a chuckle, cutting off right as Moomin clasps the last buckle of his prosthetic. “Love...be honest...am I smothering you too?”

Snufkin blinks. “What? No! Not at all…”

Moomin’s gaze narrows. He crosses his arms.

“Only slightly. A-And not all the time! Just...just sometimes…”

“How often is sometimes?”

Snufkin presses his palms against his eyes, falling dramatically back onto his bed. “It’s not always you. I like your help; I need it. But...everything I do to adjust, there’s always someone there. Encouraging me, pushing me. And I appreciate it all...but…”

Moomin’s eyes soften. “You need your space. I understand.”

Snufkin groans, not daring to look at him. “It’s not important. Just me being insufferable-”

“No! Don’t you dare call yourself that!” Moomin plops himself beside Snufkin, the bed wobbling beneath their weight. The troll wraps his paws delicately over Snufkin’s hands, peeling them away. Two beady brown eyes are exposed. “This has all been hard for you, in ways I can’t even begin to imagine. We can’t just leave you to figure this all out on your own, but it’s on us for not realizing that even now, you still need your independence...what can we do to give you that?”

This is the time where Snufkin is supposed to come up with a solution. However, he’s far too taken aback by Moomin’s humility. Hands still intertwined, he brings Moomin’s up to his lips and litters then with kisses.

Moomin’s face turns beet red. “I-Is this your idea? I’m not opposed, but this hardly seems like a solution.”

Snufkin breaks into a cheerful bout of laughter. “No, my dear, dear Moomintroll. I just love to shower you in affection. But I do have something else in mind.”

 

There’s no sand left in Moomin’s fur to pick off, but that doesn’t stop him from rubbing his skin raw with worry. Tuffs of white hair drift into the wind, carried out to the crystal sea.

“You’re gonna be hairless by the time he gets here,” Little My childs him. With her trusty stick, she draws various creatures onto her sandy canvas. Each one is unique and horrifying in their own special way. “Give Snufkin some time to get here before you assume the worst.”

“Oh, but what if he’s taken a nasty fall?” Mymble frets, adding fuel to Moomin’s fire. “There were a lot of rocks on the path we took to get here.”

“Snufkin will be alright,” Too-Ticky promises her, since she hasn’t been able to tear her sights off Mymble this whole time. “He’s been working towards this all along.”

“Yes he has,” Moomin chimes in, in an effort to calm himself down as well. “He made it to the creek without any hiccups. He’ll make it to the beach just the same.”

They group busies themselves in various ways. Moomin takes a seat next to Little My, asking her questions about her doodles when not staring down the woods in anticipation. Too-Ticky and Mymble engage in a private conversation upon an old log, the two speaking as if they’ve known each other for centuries. Ah, Moomin remembers those days of pining. How awful and wonderful they had been.

Half an hour later, all of them are on edge. The beach is a fair distance from the Moominhouse, and Snufkin is still adjusting to his new sense of balance, but surely the mumrik should be here by now.

Moomin stands up, walking briskly towards the forest clearing. “I’m going to go find him.”

“I’m coming with you!” The other three say in unison. Clearly his concern is universal.

Just as they are about to cross back into the woods, however, a very familiar figure comes into view. He’s a bit out of breath and favoring his walking cane for support over his legs, but Snufkin has made it nonetheless.

The group rushes him, arms outstretched and ready to ensnare him in a tight embrace. They all try to do so at once, leading to a pretzel knot of limbs.

Moomin nuzzles his nose against Snufkin’s cheek amid the chaos, prouder than any troll has ever been. “You did it! Look at you! You made it!”

Snufkin chuckles freely. “Got cold feet, did you? Well, I’ve got my sights set on the Lonely Mountain next.”

 

Eventually, as it always does, fall dies away. Moominvalley drifts off to sleep, but those in Moominhouse are as restless as ever.

Snufkin has made immense progress in a short amount of time. It’s remarkable he’s been able to adapt so well to his prosthetic, and can walk upwards of ten miles a day before his limb grows too painful for use.

However, the south is far bigger than that distance. As it stands, Snufkin will not be able to make his winter trip safely on his own.

The disappointment hits hard. Snufkin spends the week before hibernation sitting on a window seal in the living room, gazing upon a world he won’t be able to explore. All of his efforts wasted because of forces he can’t control.  His spirits ache more than his limbs ever have, having been crushed by the changing of the seasons.

Moomin joins him one morning, one of his slender claws tracing the violets engraved in Snufkin’s prosthetic. The troll has always been one to mirror moods, and with his fiance so upset it’s no wonder he’s just as down in the dumps.

“How are you feeling?” he asks quietly.

Snufkin bites his bottom lip. “Fine. Just not fine enough, I suppose…”

Moomin sighs, defeated. “I’m so sorry, love. I’d carry you south if I could. Then again, it would hardly be a solo journey if I did.”

Now that is quite the thought. Snufkin sits up, excitement sparked. “Who said it had to be solo? Oh, Moomintroll you’re a genius!”

“I am?”

“Hush now; you’ve always been. Oh, would you really do it, dear? You’ve never been away from home for so long.”

It takes Moomin a moment to realize what he’s proposed, and what Snufkin is asking of him. “Oh! Oh, well of course! Anything for you! I’m all grown-up now, anyhow. Surely it’s time for me to go off on a grand adventure like papa!”

Their plans are finalized with a grateful hug from Snufkin, who crushes his fiance in his arms. “Oh thank you! Thank you, Moomin! I love you so much.”

“I l’v y’ too,” Moomin manages to eek out. Snufkin gives him just enough room to breathe, far too giddy to let him go completely. “Golly, we have to pack quickly! Winter will roll in any minute!”

“We have to leave tonight,” Snufkin informs him. “Do you think we’ll be ready?”

Moomin laughs. “You’ve had your pack ready since summer. We’ll be out of here by noon.”


	13. Departures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey south begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter, but think of it as an interlude for what’s about to come!
> 
> Also I blinked and I had +7300 hits?!?!?!?! You all are amazing thank you for supporting this gremlin and their writing shenanigans <3

“And you promise to be careful?”

Moomin surfaces from his mother’s chest, finally able to breathe. What is it with people nearly suffocating him today? “Yes mama! I promise!”

“And you’ll make sure not to eat anything that looks suspicious?”

“Holly berries are not to be trusted. Yes, I know mama.”

“And you’ll make sure your meals are balanced properly? Even on the road?”

“Mama! Enough!”

Moominmama coes, bringing her son closer to nuzzle him. “Oh, my dear child. All grown up and taking on the world. I’m dreadfully worried, but I know you’re in good hands.”

She glances at Snufkin. The mumrik hides his deep blush with a tip of his hat.

“Take care of him too, dear,” Moominmama whispers to her son. “Don’t let him push himself past his limits.”

Moomin returns his mother’s embrace in full. “We’ll be just fine mama. Love you.”

“I love you too. More than the sun loved the earth.”

Moominpapa’s goodbye is far less poetic. The eldest troll claps a hand on his son’s shoulders, begins weaving an inspirational tapestry of all the adventures Moomin is sure to have, before bursting into tears. Moomin sweeps his father up in a hug, patting his back as he rides out his worries.

“I love you too dad...Yes, I’ll tell you all about our travels...No, we plan on avoiding Hattifatteners as best we can.”

Sniff gets his turn to say goodbye next. He gives a goodbye speech that is constantly interrupted by his yawning. It ends with him asking for the couple to share any magical treasures they may find with him, then genuine well-wishes for their travels.

Little My climbs Snufkin like a tree, sitting herself upon his shoulders. “What do you do when your leg starts hurting?”

“Take a rest,” he replies with false annoyance.

“And if your limbs are stiff?”

“Do my stretches.”

“And what are you not going to do?”

Snufkin rolls his eyes. “Stupid stuff that costs me another leg.”

“Or an arm, or anything else!”

“Yes, that too.” He reaches his hands up and lifts Little My from underneath his armpits. Down the mymble goes onto the ground. Snufkin follows her, kneeling to match her height, despite how much of a strain it clearly is for him. He presses a kiss to her forehead and ruffles the top of her head. Her ponytail is left frizzled beyond repair. She does not seem the least bit bothered by this.

“Sleep well, littlest My.”

“Good riddance, doofus.”

Mymble has been waiting patiently for her turn, but the moment Snufkin stands back up she rushes him, ensnaring him in her arms. Snufkin holds her back unsurely, hands not knowing quite where to land.

“We don’t talk enough,” Moomin hears her murmur. Apparently she doesn’t know trolls have an acute sense of hearing.

“No, we do not,” Snufkin speaks in the same tone.

“Mother misses you.”

He is silent for a long moment. “Take care this winter, Mymble.”

Mymble tenses, obviously having much more to say, but doesn’t push her brother further. She gives him a hearty squeeze, then releases him. Snufkin smooths out his tunic, avoiding her eyes.

Moomin frowns. He’s not given a chance to ponder over the exchange. Someone is poking his backside with a sharp claw. He turns, now face-to-face with Snorkmaiden. “Ow.”

She laughs, brushing back her bangs sheepishly. “That did not hurt. So...finally going on that grand winter adventure.”

A sudden, hot guilt burns in his chest. It boils the snowflakes resting on his snout. “Yes...it seems I am.”

Snorkmaiden cocks her head. Her smile should be filled with malice, but all Moomin sees is fondness. “Oh, come on now. Don’t pity me. We had our fun, but we both know what we had isn’t the same as what you have now.”

Moomin nods, as if caught in a trance. “I...I’m sorry-really sorry...i-if I ever-”

“Placed me below Snufkin’s pedestal?”

The look on Moomin’s face makes her to bust out laughing.

“Moomintroll, our minds were both elsewhere. You were chasing the boy of your dreams, and I was chasing my own vanity. Not to mention a life neither of us were ready for, or maybe ever really wanted. But I hope our time together was fun in it’s own right…”

Moomin melts into a smile. He holds his hands out for her to take. She does, and her grip is as light as a feather. “I wouldn’t be who I am today without you.”

“That’s awfully trite,” she smirks.

“But it’s true! I don’t know how else to say it. Teaching me how to love, and grow from one another-”

“Okay, I get it you big sap.” She lets go of him, forever ending their shared chapter. “Be careful, and have fun.”

Moomin nods with a grin. “Will do.”

 

Dawn sets in easily across the sky, painting the world soft hues of citrus and salmon. Far away from Moominvalley, crossing into the green unknowns of the southern wilds, the pair officially begin their journey.

Moomin is caught off guard by a spike of heightened emotion. His footsteps slow, breath catching in his throat.

Snufkin takes notice, stopping in his tracks. “What’s wrong, love?”

“Nothing really…” Moomin trails off. The payoff of their many years of pining is still settling in. “Could you play your harmonica for me?”

Snufkin smiles. He unsheathes his precious instrument and polishes it with the hem of his tunic. “What would you like me to play?”

“Whatever you feel like playing.”

“Well, that’s not a very helpful answer,” Snufkin teases. Nevertheless, he puts his harmonica to his lips and plays a familiar tune. Moomin’s favorite to be exact. The spring tune. Though it isn’t the right time of year, Moomin has trouble naming a song more appropriate for a beginning such as this.

They continue on south, the notes opening the newest act in the production that is their lives together.


	14. Reflections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey south begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m finally painting my room!!!!!! I’ve wanted to do it for so long and now I finally have the time to do it properly. Ohhhhhh I’m about to go HGTV on this shit watch out I’m talking SHELVES I’m talking AN ACCENT WALL let’s get CRAZYYY
> 
> This beginning note is gonna be tonally a lot differently then the ending note just fyi we’re gonna get real for a sec

Not much progress is made their first day of traveling, though this was to be expected. Snufkin maxes out his ten-mile limit all at once, and night falls shortly after. As the stars take their heavenly stage, Moomin carries his fiance the last needed distance to reach a safe clearing. The trees part upon their arrival, welcoming them to their first southern evening.

Moomin sits Snufkin down on the plushest rock he can find. “I’ll get the tent. Your job is to stay right here.”

Snufkin pants out a laugh. “Just give me a moment; I can help.”

“Sure you can, but what would Little My say?”

Snufkin hunches his shoulders and heightens his normal pitch. “‘Argh, I’m Little My! I’m mad as can be and smaller than a pebble! It’s amazing how much anger I can store in my tiny body!’”

Moomin tries very hard not to laugh, and fails spectacularly. “I don’t think she would say that. Really, you need your rest. The tent won’t be any trouble at all.”

So Snufkin takes his rest and Moomin tackles the tent. Literally. The pop-up shelter proves to be a more worthy adversary than the troll thought, and Snufkin is thoroughly entertained by watching his fiance struggle to connect its many parts.

Eventually, the tent is set and the two are bundled up cozily inside. Flushed side by side, Snufkin finds Moomin’s hand beneath their covers and massages the troll’s knuckles with the pad of his thumb.

“There’s so much I want to show you...and so much to explore.”

Moomin turns to face him. His eyes are as sleepy as they are dreamy. “I can’t wait. Would you believe I’ve been excited for this trip for a while now?”

Snufkin giggles, growing increasingly more slap happy. “I’m sure you have been. I’m...I’m sorry I kept you waiting.”

Moomin tilts his snout down to brush against Snufkin’s nose. “My love, I would have waited a century and more.”

“Not a milenia?”

“I said and more. That was supposed to be implied.”

“Just teasing dear.” Snufkin brushes their noses together again. “I don’t want to fall asleep.”

“Why not?”

“I’ll wake up and realize this is all a dream, because it must be. How else could I be so happy? With you in my arms...it’s far too good to be true.”

Moomin’s smile outshines all the stars in the sky. “I think when you wake, reality will surprise you. You’ll be just as happy, if not more so.”

Another Moomin kiss is shared. Snufkin melts, shutting his eyes and sighing deeply.

“Sleep well dear,” Moomin whispers. “And when you wake, I’ll be right beside you.”

Under the watchful eye of the cosmos, Snufkin falls contently into a deep sleep.

 

There is more traveling to be had the next day, along with chit-chatting, sporadic smooches, and harmonica playing.

Snufkin never takes the same path when he makes his famous journey; he simply follows the call of the wild and his insatiable desire to face it head-on. This year, with all that has occured within the past two, he finds he would rather take the time to revisit his favorite southern locations, and the souls who may inhabit them.

Following his mental map, Snufkin leads his loyal, adorable, cuddly, charming, impossible-not-to-love fiance through a forest path he remembers to be particularly beautiful. He enjoys watching Moomin’s eyes flutter from tree to sky, pointing out his favorite observation and savoring the world’s finest details. He enjoys it so much, in fact, that he doesn’t notice the ravine blocking their path until they’re right on top of it.

As far as ravines go, it’s certainly not the deepest (or that special if Snufkin’s being honest). Just a simple water flow sandwiched between walls of mossy stone. Stray boulders of various sizes cut through the middle, aligned as a bridge for those traveling such as them.

Snufkin tips his prosthetic foot in until he feels the bottom push against his wooden sole. The water reaches right up to his upper calf. He pulls himself out with a shrug. “I could probably-”

“Nope. We’re not having any other water mishaps,” Moomin cuts in. “I’ll carry you across.”

“Oh no, you don’t have to-”

Moomin doesn’t let Snufkin finish. He sweeps the mumrik off his feet and holds him bridal style, dealing a heavy blow to Snufkin’s composure. His whole face turns beet red, burning hotter than the sun.

“Doing okay?” Moomin asks as he hops from rock to rock.

Snufkin pulls his hat entirely over his head. “Mmmhmm.”

It only takes a minute or two for Moomin to get them across (thanks to his sturdy build, a quality Snufkin makes a note of to pay more attention to). Once on solid ground, he sets Snufkin down and brushes his fur from the mumrik’s outfit. Snufkin blushes even harder.

They head off, once again, where Snufkin’s memory takes them. Morning turns to midday, and midday creeps into the afternoon. But with the sun still above their heads, they continue onwards. They walk through wheat fields and kaleidoscopes of butterflies, though Snufkin insists it’s much easier to simply refer to the group as a swarm.

“Yes, but you sound far fancier if you use the proper term,” Moomin argues.

“Yes, but no one fancy would bother to remember that anyhow. They’re far too busy keeping up with appearances.”

“Wow. Our first fight. I can’t believe this is how our relationship ends.”

Snufkin chortles. In the privacy and safety of the woods, he feels no shame in it. All of his emotions are for Moomin and the world alone; everyone else will have to leave it up to their imaginations.

“Are we heading anywhere specific?” Moomin asks.

Snufkin’s face shifts the same way a see-saw would. “I had a few places in mind, but I doubt we’ll run across any of them today.”

“You feeling tired at all?”

“No, I’m alright.”

Moomin narrows his gaze.

“Alright. Just a little, but let’s walk a bit further before stopping. I want to find a nice clearing to stargaze tonight.”

“M’kay,” Moomin begrudgingly agrees.

A peaceful silence passes between them. At one point, they run across a small pond filled with young ducklings. Moomin takes out a slice of bread from his provisions and tears it into little pieces for them to savor. Such a small act of kindness, yet it sends Snufkin beaming for the next half hour.

Alas, not all good feelings can last. The shift comes out of nowhere, from the least-suspected perpetrator, and threatens to undo all the pleasantness nature has provided them.

“I’ve...been meaning to ask you...” Moomin starts. His hands wring together fretfully in front of him. Their energy is contagious, and Snufkin soon catches his terrible anxieties.

“Ask me what?” he asks innocently.

Moomin takes a deep breath. “When Mymble said goodbye to you the other day-”

Snufkin knows immediately where this conversation is going. “We’re not visiting her.”

“You don’t have to. No one is asking you to.”

“She obviously expects me to,” Snufkin grumbles. He hikes his shoulders up to his jawline, drowning in his own stature.

“I was just wondering what it was all about, that’s all.”

“Well, it’s none of your business.”

The remark comes too quickly, too harshly. Moomin’s eyes dart away, dejectedly. Snufkin winces, shoulders sagging back down.

“Sorry, love. You...you shouldn’t have to be the target of my anger.”

“Well, I’d rather you let it out than harbor it all inside you,” Moomin confesses, still clearly saddened. Snufkin doesn’t know if it’d be proper to take his hand, of if that would only create an excuse for his outburst. Only words can act as a salve for the injury he’s inflicted.

“We’re not on good terms,” he explains vaguely, voice suddenly weak. “I’d rather not spend a minute of our journey with her. This...this is a special trip, and I think she’d only spoil it.”

Moomin nods. “I understand. I-I won’t pry into why, and I don’t want you to feel obligated to share anything you don’t want to.”

Snufkin smiles thankfully. “Thank you dear. Maybe I will one day, but...not today. It’s not that I don’t...I’ve always-”

“Snufkin! Don’t worry. I know why you don’t want to,” Moomin assures him. He takes his fiance’s hand, and only now does Snufkin deem it respectable to hold it. “It doesn’t change how I feel about us. Not all things are meant to be shared.”

“Though I know I should. Eventually.”

“Only if you want to.”

“I do. I...I trust that you would listen to me. Sometimes-” Snufkin pauses, suddenly losing his cool. Even slightly breaching the subject has unleashed the emotions that come with it. “Sometimes I think what happened between us isn’t a big deal at all, a-and that I’m just...overreacting. Because I’m fine. I am fine...At least I was so sure I was…”

Moomin squeezes his hand. “Snufkin…”

“I have you,” Snufkin continues, voice cracking. “And Little My, and Sniff, and Snorkmaiden, and all of Moominvalley. Yet...how can it not be enough? How is it all not enough to make that pain go away?”

Moomin stops walking, forcing Snufkin to stop with him. He takes Snufkin’s other hand, cradling them delicately in his. His touch is the rock that needs Snufkin marooned to the very earth. Without his dear Moomintroll, he would be floating far out of the atmosphere, up and up until he were alone with his terrible thoughts.

“Some things...others can’t give you,” Moomin explains to him. “Some things...can only be achieved with time. A-And whenever closure comes for you, know that I-and everyone else in the valley-will have your back no matter what.”

Snufkin can’t brush away the tears in his eyes, so he has no choice but to let them flow freely. “I’m an adult now, Moomin. Enough time surely should’ve passed by now. So why…? Why hasn’t it been…?”

Moomin pulls him closer, wrapping his firm around around Snufkin’s middle. “You can’t outgrow trauma, love. You can only grow from it.”

Those words break the floodgate of suppression inside of Snufkin, and he is left a quivering, sobbing mess because of it. He doesn’t mean to crumble so easily, or so quickly, and is powerless to stop his reaction. Moomin holds him all the way through it, rubbing his back, whispering words of comfort into his ear.

By the end of it all, Snufkin is far too tired to function. Moomin doesn’t hesitate to carry him again, doing so until they’ve reached a proper place to set up the tent for that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow yeah so this is definitely the most vent-like of the chapters so far. Sometimes it easier to get my feelings out through writing, and boy howdy was the end dialogue based entirely off the conversation I’ve been needing to have with myself for a while (and are probably gonna need to hear multiple times). I guess what I’m really trying to say here is healing takes time and don’t be upset with yourself if you’re not seeing the results you want. And never be afraid to reach out to others. Love you all <3


	15. Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snufkin and Moomin makes a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Programming note: I'm gonna be offline starting on the 16th for a week or so bc I'm doing this weird leadership camp thingy. I doubt I'll be able to get another chapter out before I leave or one out quickly after I get back. So this fic is kinda going on a mini hiatus??? But don't worry bc it's not getting discontinued or anything. I'll be back as soon as I can!
> 
> In the meantime, I'm giving you all homework. Yall heard of Good Omens? Those of you who have prime streaming do yourself a favor and go watch it bc it's FREAKING FANTASTIC. And it's only 6 episodes long so BINGE THAT SHIT. My absolute new favorite new show hands down, and also my new obsession. Those of you who can't watch it go read the book bc it's just as great!!! I'm reading it rn and every page leaves me smiling like an idiot. It's funny, heart warming, and really gay. It'll make you feel good like Moomin does guaranteed
> 
> Thank you all so much for 8000+ hits!!!! I'm blown away by the kindness I've received from all of you <3 I'll see you again before you know it!

His southern journey, Snufkin has to admit, is much more fun with Moomin tagging along.

Not that the trip has ever been not fun, or dare he say boring to begin with. But there’s only so many times one can cross the expanse of a plateau without the awed smile of a loved one. Only so many times one gets the chance to teach their fiance how to catch, prepare, and cook their own fish for dinner. Only so many times does one get to sleep under the stars holding their beloved’s hand, and Snufkin gets to do this every night.

A week or so into their journey, they finally reach the destination Snufkin had wanted them to reach first. The untrained eye would haven’t the lightest idea where it would be, given the Enchanted Forest looks like any old forest. However, Snufkin’s experiences have taught him the forest’s tells: the sweeter, almost candy-like smell in the air, the delicate tingles that travel down his arm, the lighter feeling in his chest that almost eliminates the stress of what he confessed to Moomin. Almost.

He lets them walk a few more paces, the grass even crunching softer beneath their feet, before putting a hand on Moomin’s shoulder. “We’re here.”

Moomin looks all around, head swiveling like clay on a potter’s wheel. “We are?”

Snufkin smiles, a wee bit deviously if he is to admit it. “Just through those trees up ahead. Well...I think I’ll just let you see for yourself.”

They walk closer towards the forest’s entrance, Snufkin’s stride a more wobbly saunter and Moomin a cautious tip-toe. It makes sense, given the last mysterious place the troll visited almost cost him his life.

A thicket of ferns and low tree limbs acts as their small window of entry. Snufkin widens the opening, stepping inside. He holds out a hand, motioning for Moomin to take it. “You’ll enjoy this. Promise.”

“Of course I will. I’m with you,” Moomin grins.

Snufkin blushes. “It is far too early for flirting, love.”

Moomin chuckles and allows himself to be led inside. The plants close back in around them, not to prevent them from going back outside, but to prevent the outside from ruining what’s inside. All it will take is a gentle hand and a polite voice to will them to part.

Snufkin knows they won’t be leaving for a while, though.

Fairy light, beads of sparkles and stars, float all around. They tickle if they land on your nose, and Snufkin suspects Moomin’s snout will be a prime target. The foliage is richer than any other part of the globe, having been given the utmost care by the divine spirits who tend to them. The only runner up to their beauty would be The Nymphs garden, but the Enchanted Forest shares its grace without the risk of certain death.

Some plants are of wonderfully uncanny colors. Deep lavenders, lime greens, glistening pinks and chartreuse. Their vibrancy could be considered far too bright for comfort, yet they somehow manage to be pleasing. The fruit they grow are just as miraculous, as are the flowers.

It’s quiet. No forest is every truly quiet. There’s always birds singing and crickets chirping and the natural harmonies of the world’s many living creatures. Yet, there is silence. Not a, unpleasant one either.

Just Snufkin and Moomin, in their own little paradise.

“Oh, this is much better than that silly garden,” Moomin remarks in awe.

There’s no need to set up their tent; the trees block out much of the sky, and Snufkin knows from past visits they’re thick enough to block out the rain. Instead, they set out their supplies and enjoy a sort of picnic together. Amazingly, they still have jars of Moominmama’s marmalade left to savor, and some travel biscuits of Snufkin’s own creation (the trick is to soak them in the marmalade to make them less stale).

“Wh’n you’d discov’r th’s?” Moomin asks through a mouthful. He has marmalade spread across his mouth like messy lipstick.

Snufkin shrugs, taking another bite of his own sandwich. “Foo years ago. S’accid’nt. Ew like e’t?”

“L’ve it.”

They share a smile, both aware there is biskit stuck in their teeth. What a simple, indescribable joy it is just to share an experience with another. Especially something that is already so treasured. Snufkin comes to the forest as often as he can, to rest mainly, but also to enjoy solitude in its finest form.

Now solitude in his eyes is time spent with Moomin and Moomin alone.

However, they currently appear to be...not so alone.

Snufkin lifts his sandwich up, ready to take another bite, when he notices a peculiarly small creature has climbed onto his leg. He doesn’t jump in surprise or make any noise at all; he simply lowers his arms and stares. “Dear?”

“Mmhm?”

“We have company.”

Moomin follows Snufkin’s gaze, eyes widening. “Oh!”

Their company is not a field mouse, though they are similar in size and color. The color comes from its wooden body, and as far as Snufkin can tell they are a small wooden puppet. Their head head looks similar to a ring box, with carved-out eyes and a tiny leaf sprouting from the top. Those eyes are looking at Snufkin now, as friendly as wooden sockets can be.

Snufkin waves. “Hello, little fellow.”

The puppet cocks their head. They glance at the two of them, then hops off Snufkin’s leg and lifts up the edge of his tunic. The mumrik instinctively pulls back, but not before the puppet gets a good look at his prosthetic.

The leaf on its head springs upwards. It may try to touch the sky if it could. Then without warning, they take off back into the dense woods.

Snufkin looks at Moomin. “Okay then.”

He goes to take another bite (again), when they’re suddenly swarmed by half a dozen similarly looking puppets. They vary in appearance only by the type of wood they were made with and amount of leaves on their head. Snufkin holds his sandwich high above his head as the little creations climb up his body like a mountain.

“He-!” There’s a wooden foot in his mouth. He spits them back out. “Help! Moomin!”

Leaping to his feet, Moomin grabs the puppets by the handful and set them gently aside. However, the moment they’re set free they run right back to start climbing.

“It’s your sandwich! Throw it!”

Snufkin throws the sandwich. The puppets don’t even bat an eye (not that they could, even if they wanted to).

“Oh. Sorry love. Get off of him, you!”

This continues for some time, and while the situation is more hilarious than dangerous, it is still a nuisance. That is until somewhere, past the brush somewhere to Snufkin’s backside, a loud G is blown into a flute.

The puppets hop off Snufkin, though some are reluctant to. But like odd children, they form a group off to the side and busy themselves with messing with each other. They shove and hug and kick as if they were all toddlers in a play pen.

None of them even look at the abandoned sandwich.

There’s a rustling from the same direction the flute came from. Moomin helps Snufkin to his feet, brandishing the spreading knife for the marmalade as a weapon. A shadow appears, soon morphing into a figure around their respective heights. She steps into the light, flute in hand, and smiles apologetically.

“Sorry about them. They don’t have a clue what personal space is.”

The lady looks no older than the two of them, and is neither a mymble, a mumrik, or joxter. She is her own individual self, with long, earthy hair and freckled tan skin. Her complexion reminds Snufkin of a farm fresh egg, one from the brown hens who don’t particularly like him in the valley. A pair of ears sticks out of her head, not quite pointy yet not quite lopsided, the left one adorned with a shiny bronze piercing. She wears a grass-stained long coat over a striped jumpsuit, which is equally soiled.

“Are they yours?” Moomin asks. He has since set the knife back in the marmalade jar, not wanting to appear rude.

“They are...as in I created them. Not that I had to get them through any messy means.” She snickers, the joke going over both their heads. “My name’s Morris.”

Morris sticks out a mud-caked hand. Snufkin shakes it, then wipes his hand clean on his tunic. Moomin does the same, but with his fur.

“I’ve seen you once before,” Morris admits to Snufkin. “You stayed here a year or two ago.”

“Would’ve been two,” he informs her. “Is this your home?”

“Sorry if we’re intruding,” Moomin adds quickly.

Morris shakes her head with a kind smile. “This place belongs to no one. The little ones just like it. A perfect playground for ‘em. All the hiding places and whatnot.”

Two of the puppets have gotten into quite the tussle, slapping the other as best they can with their stiff arms. Morris plays a quick line of notes on her flute and the two begrudgingly back off.

“Aww, they’re adorable,” Moomin remarks. “You said you...created them?”

Morris nods. “It wasn’t hard to do. Just some good carving wood and some polish, a touch of magic, and now I’m the proud mother of seven rapscallions.”

“My, that’s quite a lot of children for one person to keep track of.” Snufkin should know, having once become the temporary caregiver of a rambunctious group of woodies for a good half day.

“Aye, sometimes. But...they keep me company,” Morris explains. There’s a twinge of sadness in her voice, but the couple doesn’t pry. “Are those jam biscuits you’ve got?”

“Marmalade-” Moomin corrects her, right as Morris picks up Snufkin’s ruined sandwich and eats the rest of it whole. She licks her fingers as if nothing’s the matter, then turns back to the bewildered pair.

“Got any more?”

 

Morris eats, and eats, and eats some more. Apparently all she’s had to eat the past few days have been wild herbs and unripe fruit, so her food crimes are forgiven. She explains how their misfit family only comes to the Enchanted Forest for vacation, and lives a good distance southwest of here. This year she hadn’t packed her provisions as well as she should have, and as a vegan of sorts she refused to hunt or fish for a decent meal.

As well as a hearty eater, Morris is a hearty talker. Not to the point she talks one’s ear off, however. She just so happens to be interesting enough to capture one in an easy conversation.

“You’re not a witch?” Moomin clarifies.

“Not that I know of. Not a witch in my family. Never taught, never learned. I just...do it?”

“That’s peculiar,” Snufkin comments.

Morris shrugs. “It’s not anything. Just how I am. No sense in questioning it it’s hurting no one. I’m quite happy the way I am. Say, I noticed your leg there. That’s some expert carving. I’m a bit jealous. Who made it?”

Snufkin glances at his prosthetic, barely peeking out from under his tunic. It seems to be a matter of interest today. “Um, a magical Nymph. Up in Moominvalley.”

Morris nods. “I won’t push for details. It’s mighty well made, though. But...hmm...You two wouldn’t happen to be heading towards the more rockier parts of the south, would?”

“We are,” Moomin answers. “We are, right dear?” Snufkin nods, not sure where she’s going with this.

“Well, it’s a break walking leg, but you’re gonna need something designed a bit differently for that terrain. Let me see…”

Morris picks up her flute. Her fingers fly so fast across the finger holes, Snufkin knows she only played something by the swift melody that resonates in the air. The puppets perk up, no longer interested in bothering each other, and go off scampering into the woods.

A few minutes pass. Morris helps herself to another sandwich. By the time she’s finished, the puppets come back with a fresh log from a redwood tree. Snufkin wasn’t even aware those grew down here. They leave the log in front of their mother, then go back to playing.

Morris retrieves a carving knife from her pocket, tugging of its leather covering. “If you stay the night, I’ll have your new leg ready by tomorrow afternoon.”

“Oh no, there’s no need-” Snufkin is quick to protest.

Moomin elbows him. “You’re too kind. It’ll really help him the further south we go?”

“Guarantee it,” Morris smiles.

Moomin gives Snufkin a look, a look that says Don’t deny the offer just because you’re terrible at accepting gifts, this will be good for you. Snufkin shoots him back a look that says Okay, you’re right, but can she really get it done in a day?

“Well, if it’s really no trouble,” he concedes, “then I would love for you to make it. How can we repay you?”

Morris thinks for a moment. “A jar of your finest Moominvalley marmalade.”

 

It’s astounding, but before the day even has a chance to reach its midway point, Morris has the leg carved, polished, and properly enchanted. Somehow she found proper metal joints for it and everything. Given how mysterious she is, the couple decides it’s best not to question it.

The leg is a deeper color than his rosewood one. Instead of a line of violets carved along the calf, a picture of one of her puppet children has been carved in instead. Snufkin believes its been depicted to wave at him. He also thinks it’s been enchanted to change positions.

He walks around on it for a good chunk of an hour, becoming more accustomed to it. It’s lighter, but the ankle joint is more locked in place. This should help his balance if they ever need to climb a small mountain or two. Furthermore, it fits perfectly, despite Morris never asking for his measurements.

Morris leaves them alone their last day in the forest, herding her children away whenever they try to sneak up on the couple just trying to enjoy some time to themselves. The day after that, Snufkin decides it’s best for them to keep moving so they have time to see all he wants to show Moomin.

As the bid the Enchanted Forest goodbye, and Morris’ many puppets, the not-witch tucks her prized jar of marmalade underneath her armpit and plays the couple a sweet song on her flute. As she plays, a tingly feeling passes through Snufkin’s tummy. The look on Moomin’s face tells him his fiance felt the same sensation.

“What did you do?” Moomin asks her.

“Just a little blessing. Think of it as a good-luck spell.” She smiles wide. “Save travels, you two.”

Snufkin smiles back. “Thank you, for everything.”

“And if you’re ever passing by Moominvaley,” Moomin adds, “Come pay us a visit.”

Then they walk off into parts not-so-unknown, Morris and her children waving them off as they do.


	16. Milestones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the end of a journey, and the promise of many more to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, it's been almost a month and I return just to end the fic. Probably could've timed it better.
> 
> Sorry I've been gone for so long! My week offline left me drained when I got back (but in a good way), and I took some time to flesh out my Good Omens fic (which is getting updated tonight *wink wink*). I went back and reread parts of this fic before starting this next chapter and felt as if the story was naturally ready to end. There are still some scenes I would've loved to expand and draw out more, but I wanted to end this fic on a high note and not keep it going longer than it needs to.
> 
> I'll have some sappy thank yous in the end notes so give those a look and enjoy!

There is only so much beauty a book can capture about the world. The ones Moomin had read to him as a child are but a sliver of the riches Snufkin exposes him to.

He sees mountains that stand taller than the clouds, fields of flowers exploding with all the colors of the rainbow, hot springs with mist sprinkled with silver light, river basins shaped like lopsided bowls of clay salvaged at the right moment for glossing, animals as broad and mighty as they are gentle and tame, and lilac sunsets straight out of a water coloring kit.

And these sights are to behold every day, for _months_.

Moomin feels rather spoiled by all this. He’s quite a bit more toned too, given all the wandering they’ve been doing. On a few occasions (when Snufkin isn’t looking), he’s taken to admiring himself in his reflection, normally pumping the biceps on his arms.

Snufkin’s appearance has also altered slightly. His hair has grown longer, now at a braidable length that Moomin has taken full advantage of. He’s also become more accustomed to both of his prosthetics, their journey as a whole serving as a bit of a boot camp. Though he still requires breaks in between strenuous bouts of traveling, it’s clear the mumrik takes pride in what he has accomplished.

Their time south has been one of the highlights of Moomin’s life. He will forever have a small-town heart, with adventuring such as this being a sparse occurrence. There’s no conceivable way he could picture himself going off as much as Snufkin does, but by golly does this not want to make him at least _try_ to comprehend that lifestyle.

Moomin is enjoying their travels so much, in fact, that when Snufkin informs him it’s time to turn back he’s rather upset about it.

“It can’t be nearly spring _already!_ ” he protests. In a fit of frustration, he shovels a too-large spoonful of beans into his mouth. It’s too much to swallow, and he’s forced to spit out half back into his bowl.

Snufkin snorts, unable to contain his laughter. “It’ll creep up on you, and it has for us. If we want to be back by the first day, we’ll have to leave soon.”

“How soon is _soon?_ ” Moomin asks. Surely they can milk out this expedition for at least another week or so.

“Hmm…” Snufkin thinks for a moment. “By tomorrow, we’ll reach the last destination I wanted us to hit. After that, it’ll be time to go.”

Moomin’s ears droop down to the sides of his head. “Just two more days…?”

An impossibly tender expression falls over Snufkin’s face. He nudges Moomin with his foot, smiling softly. “Don’t worry, love. There’s always next year.”

Moomin perks up immediately upon hearing that. “N-Next ye-” He clears his throat bashfully. “Next year, you say?”

“Why of course.” Snufkin covers his growing smirk with a spoonful of beans. “You would like to come, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, yes of course!” Then Moomin puts a cap on his happiness. “But...don’t you need your alone time?”

“There are ways for me to recharge besides going off on my own for so long,” his fiance assures him. “Besides...I don’t think I could go off without you, after what a joy this year has been…”

A blush creeps up Snufkin’s cheeks. Moomin can’t help but gush over him. “ _Aww_ , dearest.”

Snufkin hides his face in his bowl. “Stop it!” he echoes out. “I can’t eat with you staring at me like that! I’m all flustered.”

Moomin chuckles. “Alright, I’ll stop.” He looks away just long enough for Snufkin to try and take another bite, then adds, “You’re rather cute when you’re flustered, though.”

Snufkin goes beet red and turns around fully in his seat.

 

They begin their last walk south on their last day in silence.

Not a tense silence, or an unwanted one. It’s a peaceful, welcoming silence. A chance for the world to whisper the last of its secrets to them before they part ways. The ocean sings the ballads of seaward adventures as they draw nearer to the shore, and the seagulls chat about their daily findings as if they were already good friends.

Salt freshens the air, almost sweet in smell. Moomin spares glances at Snufkin occasionally, heart warming at the contented smile on his fiance’s face.

Something has been freed from the cage inside Snufkin, something Moomin may not understand but will stand by his side through the aftermath. There’s a lot left to be released in the future (family matters to name a few), but more has been gained then there has been lost.

Snufkin takes Moomin’s hand suddenly. “Up there.”

He points at a change in elevation off to their left. From the grass emerges a chunk of rock that hangs over the shoreline. One violet stands tall enough at the top to act as their beacon.

It’s the cliff, one Snufkin has waited a lifetime to revisit.

The climb up isn’t inherently difficult, being that it is far less steep than to be believed. It only takes as long as it does because of their chosen pace. Slow, precise, devoted. This cliff is more than just a pretty view; it’s a milestone for something grand, something important.

The violets wave to them as they reach the peak, their petals glowing under the delicate sunlight. All around them, the ocean glistens with abundant joy, grateful for their arrival. The world celebrates this moment with them, this great and blessed victory of one’s spirit.

Moomin soaks up the view. He closes his eyes with a sigh, a weight lifting from his shoulders. When he opens them, he looks to Snufkin.

There are tears in the mumrik’s eyes. Large, shimmering, grateful tears. He wipes at his eyes and smiles at Moomin. “Want to give the flowers a smell?”

They bend down and give the violets a sniff. The aurona is sweeter than fresh-made marmalade.

 

The return journey goes by far too quickly, though Snufkin knows it’s only because he’s giddy over handing next year’s invitation over already. To think of all the travels they will have makes him only want to have them all at once.

Time forces them to pace out all the excitement, to their benefit. If all they ever did was travel, they’d never experience the happiness of reuniting with Moominvalley in the spring.

Moominmama and Papa barrage their son with endless hugs and relieved affections. They demand to know of everything the two did, mostly to know if there were any dangers on the way and to write it all down for story’s sake. Of course they give Snufkin this same amount of attention, the familiar bond  developed over the years evident and clear.

All their dearest friends spring right from hydernation and into welcoming mode as well. Little My drags Sniff to the Moomin house bleary-eyed and groggy, but he is there nonetheless. Snorkmaiden gives the couple a hug each, tucking something weighted into Snufkin’s pocket as she does.

“For whenever you’re ready,” she whispers, and says nothing more. Though her amused smile says enough. Snufkin pats the rings in his pocket and tips his hat thankfully.

Later into the morning, as the festivities are dying down, Too-Ticky and Mymble emerge from wherever they had spent their winter months (presumably together ( _finally_ )). Too-Ticky and Moomin are immediately enraptured in a conversation, both thrilled to share as to what they’ve been up to. Mymble, on the other hand, leads Snufkin a short ways away from the group. There’s a strained look on her face, and as expected Snufkin feels one stretching across his own.

“You didn’t go see her, did you?”

He shakes his head, but the hand on her shoulder makes it clear he’s not brushing her off. “I’m not ready yet. There’s still a lot I have to adjust to here in Moominvalley...but one day, I’ll make that trip. Have that conversation we’ve been needing to have. I told Moomin at least. Not the problem, per say, just...that there was one.”

Mymble smiles sadly. “She’s ready. She really is. To apologize, to try and make things better.”

“Good. Let’s hope she’ll still be in a few years time.”

Her gaze falls, defeated. Snufkin tilts her head up gently, smiling kindly.

“I’m still bitter. I can’t help it. But less so now than I was before. I’m willing to give her one last chance...And Mymble?”

He waits to continue until she looks at him.

“My family is here, in Moominvalley. But you’re still a part of that family too. So is Little My. I don’t expect you to understand my pain, and I don’t need you to. Because even _I_ don’t understand myself sometimes. But I’m starting to. And I _need_ to, before I go off forgiving anybody.”

Mymble nods, smiling again. “I do understand, at least that. Sorry if I’ve seemed pushy. I just...worry.”

Snufkin chuckles warmly. “As any good sibling should.” Then he pulls her in for a hug to make up for the last one he refused to share.

 

The first day of spring ends with a sunset, as all days do. Though the sky seems fuller than it ever has before.

Snufkin is sitting on the railing of his bridge, Moomin leaning against his side. They watch blissfully at the shifting palet changes above the wispy clouds, thinking of all the other sunsets they saw together before.

“I think I’ll bring a sketchbook next year,” he announces suddenly.

Moomin stirs slightly. “Oh? What for?”

“I was thinking...one day, we’ll return to Moominvalley from the south and won’t go to Moominhouse.”

Moomin sits up. “What do you mean? Did you hear my parents say anything? What’s happening to my house-?”

“Nothing dear, nothing,” Snufkin assures him with a laugh. “I meant...I meant we would return to a house of our own.”

A small time passes as Moomin chews on his words, then his face radiates like a lightning bug. “You mean-?! Oh _Snufkin!_ ”

Snufkin almost falls off the railing as Moomin wraps him up in a massive, warm hug. They both start giggling, unable to contain their mutual elation.

“I need a sketchbook to capture parts of the world I want to build into it,” the mumrik murmurs into his fur. “The cliffside is one, the Enchanted Forest another…”

“Oh Snufkin,” Moomin muses happily, “It’ll be perfect.”

Love. Absolute love and affection flows through Snufkin’s entire being. After saying it out loud, their future together seems less like a construct and more a promised happily ever after. It’s reassurance after two long years of struggle and uncertainty.

And with this future, he’ll give Moomin the world. Not just a house, their perfect wedding, or maybe even one day children of their own...he’ll give him everything and anything, just as Moomin has already given to him.

As the sun finally sets and the moon fully rises, they sit on that railing, entwined with one another, brimming with a love that has made them both better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty, time for those sappy thank yous.
> 
> First, thank you thank you THANK YOU to my beta Nan!!!!!! You're such a thoughtful, wonderful, amazing human being and I'm so glad to have met you. I'm a better person for meeting you too. You've informed me so much about how to write disabled characters and what the disabled community has to deal with on a daily basis. Thank you for opening my eyes and being so respectable and kind <3
> 
> Second, thanks to all you lovely readers!!! It's been so fun seeing how you all have reacted to the latter half of this fic when the angst really hit hard XD. But also, thank you for all the compliments, well-wishes, and general goodness you've spread around. The world is a better place because all you amazing people are in it.
> 
> I hope we all cross paths in other fandoms and other Moomin fics someday. Until then, thank you so so so so much!!!!!!!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Check out my beta Nan's tumblr! https://moominvalleyanarchist.tumblr.com/


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